Scattering Ashes
by Gloria B
Summary: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.
1. Chapter 1

Scattering Ashes

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Dead Man Walking  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: Reveals events during the end of the third arch of the original anime series. Also reveals Matt's true name.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hiya! This came to me during the final stages of writing New Disease for Doumi's fabulous fanfiction Thanks for the Memories and it just wouldn't quit. So! Here it is. I am attempting a post-canon fic (except, of course, with the element of Matt's presence...even though I believe it is completely plausible, and tweaky facts—I'll bring them up as the come). Also, I have never tried writing Near and I'm going to put him into situations he's never been in before; he is also twenty-two years of age. So I may be taking quite a bit of creative license on his matured personality in this fic and am prepared to label him OOC for all you lovely nitpickers. In any case, I very much hope you enjoy this and thank you ever so much for reading.

Yours,  
Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter One

**Dead Man Walking**

_"My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.  
"Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.  
"What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?  
"I never know what you are thinking. Think."_

_I think we are in rats' alley  
Where the dead men lost their bones._

_"What is that noise?"_

_The wind under the door._

_"What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?"_

_Nothing again nothing._

_"Do You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember Nothing?"_

_I remember  
Those are pearls that were his eyes._

_"Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?" _

**115-126 "A Game of Chess"; Part II of The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot**

June 3rd, 2013

It had been at least a year since the last Kira copy-cat. This one was even less dangerous in Near's mind—and that wasn't really saying much as the last one was barely a foot-note in the analogues. This killer didn't even have a Death Note. The only real link to Kira that this minor case held was that the victims had been Kira supporters and officers of the Japanese police force during the final days of Light Yagami's reign of terror and megalomania.

Also, a decent percentage of them were former bodyguards of Kiyomi Takada, one of the several sub-Kiras manipulated by the late Light Yagami.

There were two things to note about this—aside, of course, from the obvious. One, Halle had brought this file in to him herself. Halle, during those tumultuous weeks, had been a member of the SPK he'd formed, and a decent one at that. She had also acted as a bodyguard to Takada and had become quite popular with Takada's fans. Simultaneously, Halle had used her position to relay information to Mello about Takada's connection to Kira—a theory they had both apparently guessed and guessed correctly.

Two, Takada had died on the same day as Mello and Matt. Indeed, Takada had somehow managed to kill Mello during his brash abduction of her and Matt was shot down by her bodyguards during the incident. Later, Mikami—another sub-Kira—would use the Death Note to kill Takada, alerting him to the fact that one Note was fake and the other, quite real. Thus, he had been able to prove Light Yagami was Kira.

Consequently, as it turns out, Mello and Matt's actions that day had saved his life, and the lives of a dozen other men, the day he confronted Kira and forced him to confess. Whether it was on purpose, a nicely-timed coincidence, or just another attempt by Mello to shake things up like he did when he had kidnapped Sayu, Near was never certain.

It had been three years, and still Near was bothered by the events of January 26th, 2010.

Near sat up, watching passively as his sudden movement disturbed his complex castle of matches and scattered across the floor. Behind him, Rester stood and came around his desk, steady and silent as ever, ready to answer Near's request.

"I would like the photos from the murder scenes on screens four through seventeen."

Rester immediately returned to his desk. After a short moment, the surrounding computer screens switched from surveillance of the interior of Wammy's House to photos taken at the crime scene where this new murderer killed his eleven victims.

Near reached for a deck of cards and unfolded the flap. "No call sign. Clean work. No apparent opposition to do things within high-security buildings. Seven of the officers were shot inside their precinct at various times. Nothing on their surveillance cameras..." Near shuffled the cards aimlessly, long slender fingers moving quickly over the deck. "This has personal written all over it. I would like the Japanese to discontinue calling this killer a copy-cat. While his style is not technically new, his method is. And he is not claiming to be Kira. In fact, he is not claiming to be anything."

"His method?" The question was expected.

"The killer is not disregarding the security of the building, he is manipulating it." Near placed the deck in front of him and selected a card from the top. A jack of hearts. "Obviously he is technologically...inclined."

"But who could break into a police precinct, kill multiple officers, and then leave again like he was never there?"

"That," Near said, gazing thoughtfully at the jack, "is why they call it a mystery."

Rester laughed, the sound low and rumbling.

Abruptly, the alarm system for the entire mansion went off. Lights flashed red as Halle ran into the room, un-holstered weapon in hand. "Lock it down!"

"We have a breach," Rester confirmed, switching the screens back to surveillance. "Not sure where. Cameras are shifting in and out."

Near tucked the jack of hearts into his shirt pocket and looked up, searching the screens with dark eyes. "Call in Code 9 for the faculty and the student body. Make sure they understand this is not a drill."

"Roger," Halle responded.

The cameras were indeed shifting—but there was a pattern. "Intruder has rigged the cameras to black out when he passes them," Near murmured, his voice barely audible over the shrill alarm. Near pointed. "Hall fourteen...now he's turning left. Now he going up the stairs to the Eastern Wing...he knows his way around this place."

"Former student?" Rester asked, fingers flying over his keyboard.

"None that were advanced enough to do this...unless..."

"We've locked down all the doors, but they're opening for him!" Halle called.

"Status of the student body?" Near asked calmly, eyes following the invisible intruder's progress through the mansion. The intruder was on the third floor now. He was headed here.

"Faculty has entered confirmation codes. Student body is locked down."

"He's headed this way!" Rester announced, wrenching his gun from its holster.

"Yes, I know." Something felt wrong about this. Near had updated the security measures on the mansion himself when they had returned to Wammy's and taken over L's office. Who could know this place so well?

Halle and Rester took up a protective position between Near and the door, weapons at the ready, safeties off. Near's eyes searched the screens frantically. He grabbed a toy robot and clenched it tightly. The intruder would be here in four seconds. Three. Two.

The door slid open and Rester fired—but his aim was knocked off-course by Near's robot, which had been flung from where he sat on the floor. The bullet didn't stray far. Expensive plastic shattered on the right side of his face and the intruder swore, ripping off his goggles and flicking sharp fragments away from his eyes.

Near stared dumbly, his mouth slack, as the intruder straightened, wiping blood off his cheek irritably with a flick of his gloved fingers. "Yeah, hi to you too." He swore again, holding up his ruined goggles for closer inspection.

"M-Matt?"

Rester kept his weapon trained on the intruder as Halle took a step forward, her arm wavering.

Behind them, Near stood, dark eyes wide with shock. _"Matt?"_ It definitely looked like him. Cornflower blue eyes, dark auburn hair, slender build, sloping, generous mouth, the undeniable odor of cigarette smoke that hung around the former Wammy's student like an invisible cloud. He looked strange though, haggard and thin in his close fitting leather riding outfit. Dark circles smudged the skin under his eyes, his hair was longer, the ends frayed and messy, and there was a strange tremor slightly shaking his left hand.

"The one and only." Matt ran a hand through his hair and tossed a jacket to Near over Rester and Halle's heads. His voice was deeper than Near remembered it, gruffer—slightly strained. "Let's go."

Near caught the jacket and held it up in front of him.

Halle continued to stare at Matt, but Rester took action. "Hands behind your head," he demanded, taking a step forward, his gun still raised. "Turn around and spread your legs." Halle shook her head, shattering whatever spell had frozen her and raised her gun again.

"You heard him. That was an order not a suggestion."

Matt ignored them and made to side-step them in Near's direction. Rester shoved him back with one heavy hand, but Matt grabbed the man's thumb and quickly twisted his arm behind him, jabbing one booted foot into the flesh behind Rester's knee. With a shout, Rester's knees buckled and he staggered under Matt's weight, dropping his gun. Then, it got rather chaotic and Near watched, frozen in shock, as a gunfight shook his office.

Halle fired her weapon, but Matt dodged it this time, sweeping his leg out and catching her by the ankles. Rester managed to wrestle free and grabbed Matt by the throat. As Halle toppled backwards, Matt jabbed three quick punches into Rester's kidney, causing the larger man to double over. Matt's elbow came crashing down onto the back of Rester's neck as Halle twisted on the floor. Matt lunged for Rester's gun as Halle fired a second shot. The bullet caught one of the massive screens and it shattered, sparking electricity and hot smoke. Matt tumbled and swung his arm around, but when Near saw the firearm in his hand he rushed forward.

"That's quite _enough_," Near said, raising his voice only slightly to make sure they heard him over their own adrenaline, raising his hands between them.

"Near, get behind me," Halle ordered.

Instead, Near donned the jacket. Matt kept his stolen weapon trained on the female bodyguard as Near quietly went to one side of the office and procured a pair of white sneakers and slipped them on. Then, he walked passed Matt and entered the code sequence to open the door.

"Near!"

"I have often debated the logic of using an orphanage as a shield," Near told her softly. "Tonight, thanks to your incompetence, three bullets have been fired on an unarmed man. Whatever happens next, will happen away from this orphanage."

Rester groaned and tried to roll over. Matt glanced at him once before looking back at Halle. Something stony had stolen over Matt's features. "He'll return in due time. Do not follow me, or I might renege."

Frankly, Matt didn't think they'd listen. So he made sure to quicken the pace the moment they reached the stairwell. Matt grabbed Near's wrist and dragged him along as he maneuvered through the twisting halls of his youth, past stained-glass windows and stonework and ornate wood engravings, past dodgy security cameras and libraries and classrooms, past it all; none of it meant much to him anymore.

They exited through a side door. It had been used as a servant's entrance generations ago, so it was lower and less conspicuous. Not to say that Matt was really trying to hide. A brand new, cherry red Corvette was parked just outside the door, waiting for them. The early summer air was cool, the smell of rain thick as invisible storm clouds gathered in the night sky.

"Get in."

Near hesitated and Matt sent him a dark look. "Get in."

Near walked around the vehicle and opened the passenger side door, glancing up at the mansion towering above them. The alarm was still going off and the entire estate was lit with bright white search lights. Near ducked into the car and pulled the door shut. Matt slid in behind the wheel and started the engine. Then, Matt unhurriedly lit a cigarette, pocketed his lighter and adjusted the review mirror. Matt shifted the clutch and the car began to pull forward. With his left hand on the steering wheel and his cigarette clenched between his teeth, Matt reached over Near and opened the glove box. He retrieved a small black device with multiple, odd-shaped buttons. As he accelerated and pulled out onto the main drive, he pressed a red one and all the search lights went out and the alarm abruptly silenced. Matt pressed another button on the device and the front gate opened. After they had cleared the estate, Matt returned the device to the glove box, looking side-long at Near who stared back at him with black eyes.

Matt looked away first and promptly ignored Near for nearly twenty minutes as he drove through the sleeping town outside the estate and merged onto a vacant freeway. Near was equally quiet, trying to figure out why his multi-layered thoughts seemed to have shuddered to a dormant pause while only one flashed garishly in the forefront: _Matt is alive._

They were well into the country-side when the shock began to sub-side and Near's thoughts began to reboot. Immediately, suspicion slammed into him like a blow to the gut. He looked like Matt, he had Matt's skill with electronics, but he definitely did not act like the Matt he remembered. Furthermore, Matt was _dead_. "What's your name?"

"Mail Jeevas," Matt answered readily, his voice low and distracted. "You know that. Please be quiet." Matt turned on his blinker and abruptly swerved across the highway to make the next exit, his eyes on the review mirror.

Near twisted in his seat and saw through the back window that a black Lincoln was pursuing them. Halle and Rester had caught up. "Lying to me isn't going to change anything."

"Quiet please."

"They will not stop their pursuit. It would be unwise to--"

"Put on your seat belt and be quiet."

"Are you planning to ransom me? I will tell you now--"

"_Please_ shut up," Matt said through clenched teeth. "And fasten your seatbelt." Matt leaned forward and searched the sky. Distantly, he heard a helicopter coming in from the east. He checked his watch. Four-thirty, right on time.

The car lurched as Matt pulled a hard right, turning the wheel with one hand and popping the clutch with the other. Then he gunned it. Tires squealed behind them as their pursuers followed, the brights of the Lincoln flooding the interior of Matt's Corvette as they closed in.

Near recoiled in his seat as another light flashed and a loud, trumpeting sound shook the windows. Directly in front of them, a red and white striped bar was blocking the street to allow passage of a speeding train. "Train," he whispered, his voice failing him.

"I see it. Seat belt. Now."

"Likelihood of crossing the tracks before the train is less than one percent—"

Matt had no intention of stopping. He pressed the gas pedal all the way down to the floor with one foot and gritted his teeth, glancing at Near out of the corner of his eye. "Goddammit, Near! Put on your—"

"We won't make it! Brake!"

Matt swore, unclipped his own safety device and flung himself sideways, grabbing Near's seatbelt. Too late.

Behind them, the Lincoln hydroplaned as the vehicle skidded on its braking wheels. The train came barreling down on them, the horn blaring, the light glaring white. Matt held onto Near's seat belt for dear life, using his body to protect the top-rated detective in the world from the impact as the Corvette smashed into the wooden bar, the windshield splintering with a deafening cracking sound. Then the car jumped over the tracks, the front fender breaking off as the speed-propelled vehicle bounced over the metal rails. The horn was deafening, all Matt could see was white—and then the horn faded to a shrill whine. They had made it. Matt quickly calculated the risk of leaving the detective unprotected for control of the wheel, his thoughts flying faster than light in his mind. He decided against it, shifted his foot to the brake pedal and braced himself, pressing Near against the seat with the weight of his entire body.

The Corvette swerved once, twice, and then lost its balance and tilted sharply onto two wheels. They were airborne for only a split second before the roof of the vehicle slammed into to something hard and quite solid, denting the metal severely inward. Luckily, the backseat of the Corvette embraced most of the impact, leaving the front relatively unharmed.

Matt had landed on the back of his neck, his legs twisted and trapped under crunching metal. They only had a few minutes before the train passed and Near's bodyguards would be able to continue their pursuit. Matt could hear the thunderous whipping sound of the helicopter landing a few yards away.

He twisted, swearing as a bit of shrapnel sliced into his cheek. He used every muscle in his stomach and left side to lift his torso up so he could turn off the ignition. Blowing themselves up at this point would be a very bad idea. Beneath him, Near was very still.

Matt checked his pulse. The detective was unconscious, but there were no broken bones that he could see from his vantage point, so he assumed he would make it to the helicopter. Matt fell back again and braced himself with his hands, working to free his legs. At last he had them straightened out and began kicking at the driver's side door. It took four direct hits before it gave, but it was enough. Matt curled in on himself and maneuvered so that he could lift himself out of the door torso first, careful not to step on the sleeping Near. Quickly, he pulled himself up and out and then immediately adjusted on his belly so that he could reach down and grab Near. He was heavier than he looked.

Finally, as the last of the cars of the train were rounding the bend, Matt had Near's arm around his shoulder and was stumbling toward the waiting bird.

* * *

"Fuck!" Halle screamed, running at full speed towards the smoking wreck of the red Corvette as the helicopter flew away, Rester hot on her heels. "Fuck!"

Rester slowed as he squinted up into the inky black sky. "That looks like a military bird," he shouted to his partner.

Halle looked up and swore again. "Which goddamned one? Can you see--?"

"No, it's too dark."

"This is bad, Rester. That was _not_ Matt."

Rester ran a hand through his hair. "Are you certain?"

"I saw the body, in Japan, three years ago. Riddled with bullets. Very, very dead, Rester. _That was not Matt_."

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

Scattering Ashes

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Last Will and Testament

**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: Reveals events during the end of the third arch of the original anime series. More real names revealed. See A/N at the bottom of the chapter for further explanation.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Originally, I had planned for far more dialogue and a slightly more reclusive and unresponsive Matt. However, after some heartbreaking editing, I decided that keeping Near as in-character as possible was more important and that much of the dialogue originally planned could be pushed back to later chapters. Well and so, I hope you enjoy the update and thank you very much for reading.

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Two

**Last Will and Testament**

"_Shape without form, shade without colour..._

_...Paralyzed force, gesture without motion..._

_...Those who have crossed..._

_...With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom..._

_...Remember us – if at all – not as lost..._

_...Violent souls, but only..._

_...As the hollow men..._

_...The stuffed men."_

**Second half of The Hollow Men, Part I by T.S. Eliot**

June 5th, 2013

"I think you'd like it here."

"Do you?"

Mello smiled, his cat-shaped eyes crinkling in the corners. "Well, I'd say it was sort of boring, but nothingness can't be boring. Nothingness can't be anything."

"You seem happy."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

"I suppose." Mello tilted his head, causing yellow-blond strands of hair to fall in random patterns across his face and neck. "I think you miss me sometimes."

"Sometimes, I think I do too."

Mello looked at his hands, scraping at some invisible blemish on his wrist with a sharp fingernail. "I've left something for you."

"For me?"

"For safekeeping." Mello looked up then, his eyes seeming more green than usual. "You will keep it safe, won't you?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"Good." Mello looked over his shoulder, as if his eyes were drawn away by a sudden noise. When he looked back he seemed agitated. "Benjamin."

"Benjamin?"

"Yes, Benjamin."

"Who is Benjamin?"

But Mello only smiled again, the darkness closing in around the edges. "Benjamin," he said.

Abruptly, a searing pain lanced through his skull and Near sat up with a jolt, clutching his head with both hands. Near gasped as the pain throbbed, shuddering dizziness through him in surging waves.

"Easy, Near." The mattress dipped as a second body applied its weight and gentle fingers pried his hands away. "Easy. Let me have a look." Near opened his eyes, registering the odor of cigarette smoke. The man calling himself Matt was bent over him, his hands in Near's hair as cornflower blue eyes searched the bruising around his right temple.

"You have a slight concussion," Matt informed him. "Worried me at first, but then you woke up about four hours after the accident. Do you remember?"

"No. Unhand me."

Immediately, Matt withdrew his hands, keeping them palm outward as he stood and backed away from the bed. He was dressed in a tight-fitting black turtleneck and jeans, despite the summer heat. "Alright, killer. You want some aspirin?"

"No."

"Suit yourself." Matt crossed the room, kicking at piles of clothes and bandage rolls littering the floor as he went, and retrieved a beer from the small fridge in the corner by the door. Near noticed he was limping, but did not comment on it.

Keeping the other man in his peripheral, Near took in his surroundings. It was a small apartment of some kind, with a tiny, rusting kitchenette, an unused metal rail screwed into one wall for hanging clothes, a barred window with the blinds drawn shut, a toilet and a desk with no less then four laptops and a myriad of interconnecting wires strewn on and around it. A bed also, from which Near currently sat. He grimaced as the thought of whether or not the sheets twisted around his legs were clean crossed his mind and he pushed them back, kicking himself clear of the musty bedclothes. Curling in on himself and resting his chin on one knee, he shot a dark glare in his companion's direction.

Matt, who was watching him with one dark brow arching in barely veiled amusement, shrugged and reached into his pocket, producing a pack of smokes. He grabbed one by its filter using his teeth, pocketed the pack and then lit his cigarette, all with the ease of long habit. "You should have put on your seatbelt."

"Are you going to ransom me? Where am I?"

Matt frowned, exhaling smoke from one corner of his mouth. "Berlin. And I wouldn't need to abduct you to take your money, Near."

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Matt's expression shifted to one of slight concern. "What's the last thing you remember? Jesus, I didn't think you hit your head _that_ hard."

"I know who you're claiming to be, but it is impossible." Near's fingers twitched for something to play with. His mind always worked better when his hands were occupied. "Matt is dead. I sent one of my bodyguards to personally view the body. She's confirmed it. He is dead."

Matt took a sip of his beer, gazing at the detective who glared suspiciously back up at him. Finally, after a full minute, Matt grunted and crossed the room to sit, facing outward, in the chair by the desk. He slouched in the chair, sprawling out his legs and resting his beer on the jut of his abdomen. "While I can appreciate your hesitation to believe me," Matt began in a diplomatic yet thoroughly sarcastic tone. "I'm not interested in wasting my time trying to prove to you who I am. Frankly, it's a teensy bit fucking insulting, since we grew up together and everything. But hell, whatever. There's the fucking door," he said pointing with two fingers, his lit cigarette clenched between them. "You're not my prisoner."

Near stared at him, every inch of his body willing him to get up and go, but his mind paralyzed with the thought it might be a trap. Matt raised his brows expectantly and gestured in a sweeping motion towards the door with both hands. Abruptly, Near stood and stepped off the mattress. With nothing to do with his hands but stuff them in his pockets, he shuffled quickly towards the door. Matt didn't stir as Near turned the door knob, opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

The hall opened up to a stairwell with paint peeling back from the walls in splashes of polluted yellow and base green, and the rails were red with rust. Keeping his hands deep in his pockets lest he accidentally touch anything, Near began his decent. When he reached the third floor, a jonsing bum reached out for him, mumbling in German from where he crouched in one corner. Near almost missed a step in his attempt to twist away from the grimy hand. The was a small child holding a ball on the second floor, who stared at Near with wide brown eyes and a trembling lower lip. The first floor was the worst.

Near felt panic bubbling in his chest before he had even reached the front door. The noise of the traffic outside was overwhelming; bumper to bumper cars lined the street with driver's shouting at one another angrily, catcalls screeched at him from the left and the right, the heat was unbearable, there was dirt _everywhere—_even the air was oppressive, thick and heavy with humidity and smog...

* * *

Matt didn't look up from his hand held game when Near re-entered the studio apartment, all but collapsing against the door as he closed it behind him. His thumbs flew over small buttons furiously as he kept his head bent over the game, a cigarette dangling precariously from his partially open mouth. "Welcome back," Matt muttered as Near slid to seating position and curled his knees up to his chest.

Near waited for Matt to finish his game for where he sat on the floor, his breath coming in short gasps and his heart hammering in his chest. He never registered when Matt put down his hand held or stood, but suddenly there was a glass of water shoved under his nose, followed by a palm holding two aspirin. Near took both, gulping down the water greedily, causing small rivers of water to stream down his chin and soak his color. Matt took the glass away before he was finished. "Not too fast," he said, "or you'll make yourself sick."

Near nodded and accepted the glass a second time, drinking in steadier sips this time. When he was finished, he handed the glass back to Matt, who took it and set it on a short counter in the kitchenette.

Near pressed his forehead against his knee, sucking air into his lungs with deep breaths in an attempt to slow his rapid heart beat. Matt sat cross-legged on the floor next to him, murmuring words he couldn't comprehend in a low voice and rubbing circles into his back with one hand. Finally, Near began to calm and he lifted his head just enough to look over at Matt.

Matt lifted a brow, causing it to disappear under his unruly hair. "You ready to talk now?"

Near nodded mutely and Matt withdrew his arm from around his shoulders, allowing it to rest instead one knee. "I swear to you I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important," Matt began, reaching into his pocket for another cigarette. "I'm quite comfortable with everyone thinking I'm dead, believe me." Matt lit his cigarette. "But I promised Mello once I would carry out his last wishes should anything go bad. He made me promise, when the whole shindig with Kira was getting hectic. But when..." Matt hesitated, staring at the lit smoke in his fingers. "But when he thought I died, he left the package to you. I've tried to open it, dozens of times. But there's only one back door and the password is something apparently only you know."

Near frowned. "Package?"

Matt looked over at him, something strained in his expression. "His last will and testament."

Near reached up and twined a lock of his hair around his pointer finger. "I don't know of any backdoor."

Matt rose and resumed his seat behind the desk. He turned to one of the laptops and, despite the screen remaining black, began typing rapidly on the keyboard. From an unseen speaker, short clicking noises began filling the room, mixed with strange, short thudding sounds and a couple of shrill whines. Matt seemed to ignore it and continued to type, his dark auburn hair falling into his eyes as he hunched over the keys. Near stood up and shuffled over to the desk, standing over him and watching as Matt continued to type for what seemed like forever. Suddenly, his fingers paused over the keys and the strange mix of sounds halted. "It says something about a name only you know," Matt said glancing up at the detective.

Near's dark eyes searched the blank screen. "I don't understand. There's nothing there."

Matt bit his lip, seeming for a moment to be caught in indecision before raising one hand to turn the screen on. Slowly, the screen woke up and Near could see a matrix of code constantly moving in several directions, the letters green, white and blue against a grayish black background. "You can read that?"

"Yeah." Matt reached around one of the other laptops and crushed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "Hurts my eyes after a while though, so I listen to the code mostly instead."

"You _listen_ to the code?" That's like saying his mind literally works like a computer. If this really was Matt, it might even be true.

Matt lit another cigarette and waved his hands impatiently. "The name, Near. What's this name he's talking about? I've tried Nate River. I've tried Mihael and Mail, but those names were known by more than just you. I tried Quillish Wammy and—"

"Lawliet."

"Yeah, I tried that too. Didn't work. Tried Light Yagami, but his name was known to dozens of people. It was a reach, I know. I didn't know your parents' names but—"

"I don't know them either."

"Well, shit." Matt rested the back of his against his chair, sighing heavily and swiveling his eyes over to where Near stood, hovering over him. Near continued twirling his hair around his finger, over and over, his dark eyes roaming the screen as he thought, every name he had ever heard or read coming to the forefront of his mind and being discarded one by one.

"Benjamin," Near breathed, his dark eyes going wide.

"Who the hell is Benjamin?"

"Never mind that. Type it in."

Matt did. Near didn't understand the message in the sounds beeping from the computer, nor could he read the moving coded matrix, but he understood Matt's exasperated sigh well enough. Near tugged painfully at the lock of white hair entwined in his fingers, willing his mind to _think_. Suddenly, he let his hair go and dropped his hand to his side. "Benjamin Lawliet."1

Matt's cornflower blues eyes widened under his messy bangs. "_No way_."

Near gestured to the keyboard and Matt typed it in. The screen blinked once, twice and then flickered to white, showing multiple icons. One was labeled "L", another was labeled "Kira", and further down the list was "Will". Matt flexed his fingers over the keyboard a few times before sighing softly and curling his fingers inward to form fists. Matt stood and gestured for Near to take his place in front of the keyboard.

Near looked at him oddly and Matt shrugged. "The file was left to you," Matt said, not quite meeting Near's eyes. "I shouldn't...I—it wouldn't be right. I'm going out." Matt suddenly turned on his heel, grabbed a set of keys, and left the studio.

Near stared at the door for many minutes after Matt had shut it, and then he shook his head and approached the desk. He curled onto the chair and reached for the mouse.

* * *

Matt did not return until well after midnight, some eleven hours later. Near was perched in the far corner on the bed, his legs drawn up to his chest. In his hand, he held a sheet of paper.

Matt walked in and dropped his keys onto the desk, a cigarette clenched between his teeth but unlit. He swayed slightly on his feet as he stood in the middle of the room and gazed down at Near with unfocused eyes.

"You're inebriated." Nears voice was monotone and level, having regained some of his composure during Matt's absence. It had taken an incredible amount of effort, but after the shock of it all had dissipated, his mind was there ready to work. And it had, quite furiously indeed.

"Yes." Matt did not try to deny it, nor did he gloat—which Near found very interesting. Near wasn't sure if it was grief or anger that followed Matt around like a ghost, clinging to the shadows in his face and making him seem older than he really was. Whatever it was, it looked heavy on him. Near couldn't decide if he cared or not.

It wasn't like him to care...but this was Matt. Or might be.

"Mello left me a few short stories L relayed to him shortly before his departure to Japan for the Kira case," Near said, his expression hidden in the darkness of the room. "He also left an extensive map of the underground to which Mello had associated himself. I will make sure to put it to good use when I return to Wammy's." Near relaxed one leg and twisted it behind him, placing the sheet of paper on the bed in front of him. Matt glanced at it but made no move to retrieve it.

There were other things, too. Things that only the real Matt would know. "There were also quite a few details about the Kira case itself. Mello was very clever...but he gave much of the credit to you."

Matt clenched his fists tightly, keeping his eyes trained on the slip of paper Near taunted him with.

"Its time for you to square with me, Matt."

Matt closed his eyes, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "Mello guessed Takada's relationship to Kira. All I did was ascertain she had a Death Note. She gave it to someone else, I never knew who. But we knew you were about to move...and that Kira would kill you if we didn't somehow relay the information."

"So Takada's abduction, that whole thing, was intentional? You were trying to send me a message?"

"Yes. Mello hated you, but he never wanted you dead."

"And you?"

Matt didn't answer.

"Matt."

Suddenly, Matt shouted and threw a punch at the nearest wall. When he whirled back, his eyes were blazing. "I told him to check her! I _told_ him. He never fucking listened to me. People don't fucking _listen_! I told him she would hide it on her. He's dead because he didn't—because he had that stupid moral code, that idiotic no-fly zone. I tried to switch with him, but he _had_ to be the star! It _had_ to be the 'Mello show'. I told him, Near! I swear to God I did!"

"I believe you. How did you survive?" His voice was unsympathetic, a single monotone note.

Matt abruptly shut his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line and looking away. He turned and wrapped his arms around himself. "I owe it to him to make sure his final wishes are carried out," came Matt's voice, low and cracking. "What did he want?"

"He wanted his body cremated and his ashes scattered."

Matt turned again and stalked towards the bed, his features angry and menacing in the darkness. "What is that, _irony_? Are you trying to be funny, Near?"

"I am not aware of having a sense of humor," Near responded, inflectionless. "He left a list of places he wanted his ashes scattered. Apparently, they were places he wanted to see and never was able to. Things he wanted to do; I don't know." Near took up the sheet of paper and handed it to Matt. "I wrote them down."

Matt took it and read the list over, choking on a bitter laugh. Matt shook his head desperately, seeming to fight some emotion boiling just beneath the surface. "That church, it's been a ruin for over three years..."

"There should be enough ashes left to fill an urn."

Matt shook his head again. "Don't play with me; you'd never do it."

"I beg your pardon?" That caught Near by surprise.

"You'd never do it," Matt repeated, glancing over it him. "Or would you? _Would_ you?" Abruptly, Matt seemed younger as hope softened the lines around his nose and mouth, lightened the shadow in his eyes.

"I don't understand. Mello couldn't expect me to—"

"That last I heard on the subject, Mello wanted to be buried next to L," Matt argued. "He must have changed it after he thought I died and revised it for you."

"You're jesting."

"It was left for you, coded for you—had information only _you _would make use of."

Near frowned. "Fine. I'll have Halle and Rester—"

"No! This is none of their goddamned business."

Matt's sudden vehemence made Near pause. "I am not...I am not equipped to handle this sort of thing...socially or—"

"I can help. I won't coddle you, but I'll help. I'll get you through it; I'll help you see it done."

Near stared at Matt's face. It was brighter now, more like he remembered it when they were young. His resolve was slipping. "And then you'll take me back?"

Matt looked confused. "Back where?"

"Wammy's."

"Ah." Matt chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Only if you call your dogs off."

"Fine."

"Oh, fuck. Do you promise?"

_Do you promise?_

Near blinked. "Yes."

**To be continued...**

**1** I have absolutely no idea where wikipedia got this information, but I swear to you, it's there. Says "Benjamin" Lawliet is L's real name. I double checked Another Note and How to Read, but no mention of a "Benjamin" did I find—whiiiiich means that it's completely, utterly, and knowingly **not canon**. HOWEVER, I decided that it was interesting so I threw it in there. On AFF, it got a rather strong reaction, so I may, in later chapters, explain that it was L's father's name. I'd like your opinion on this, if I may ask, because while I hardly think its controversial, if it upsets too many people, I may need to shift it to mean something else—and I made that element of this chapter ambiguous enough that it would work if that was the case. If no one cares, then I'll leave it as is. All in all, its not incredibly important to the plot either way.


	3. Chapter 3

Scattering Ashes

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Disturbed  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: None for this chapter, I don't think

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Finally! The plot gets a' rollin'. And we also get to crawl into Near's head a little bit and get a sense of how he's reacting to everything. As always, reviews are love in code.

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Three

**Disturbed**

"_His soul stretched tight across the skies_

_That fade behind a city block,_

_Or trampled by insistent feet_

_At four and five and six o'clock;_

_And short square fingers stuffing pipes,_

_And evening newspapers, and eyes_

_Assured of certain certainties,_

_The conscience of a blackened street_

_Impatient to assume the world._

_I am moved by fancies that are curled_

_Around these images, and cling:_

_The notion of some infinitely gentle_

_Infinitely suffering thing."_

**Part IV of Preludes by T.S. Eliot**

June 6th, 2013

Near did not appreciate being abducted from his home. He did not appreciate being removed from his case files and the protection of his bodyguards, the ever faithful Rester and Halle among others. Furthermore, Near did not appreciate being lied to, manipulated, or having his genetic recessive traits used against him to force him to stay.

All these things this man, this "Matt", did shamelessly under the guise of grief and pain.

What Near did not appreciate above all...was that it was working.

Near had never once claimed to be this unfeeling creature he was labeled, with only organs and tissue keeping his anatomical body alive so he could solve cases and play with puzzles with his methodical mind. Neither, however, had he ever felt the need to refute it. Near did, in fact, _feel_ and had a great affinity for emotions. Yet, ever since he could remember, he has always habitually viewed them as a separate entity, carefully storing them away in a secret file to later review when his thoughts were most quiet.

It was not important to him to expose these emotions he kept locked up to others. Indeed, he learned very early the negative effect emotional exposure could have on one's lifestyle. Mello had been a profound example for him. So too had A, and even Beyond Birthday, who had pushed the envelope of his internal frustrations to the very limit; all three, ultimately, allowed their feelings to cause their demise.

Matt, the Matt from his childhood and even this one, was somewhat of an enigma to him. While he seemed retrospective and reclusive, hiding behind his games and goggles, hesitant to go outside even at Mello's behest, had behaved like a moth drawn to a great flame, trailing behind Mello during his antics, unassuming and amused. Near did not think that Matt dealt with his emotions like he did.

Well and so, as Near sat quietly in one corner of the dingy studio apartment and watched Matt prepare for their journey to Japan to collect ashes and fulfill the first obligation of Mello's will, Near found that there were a great many similarities he shared with the man across the room. And despite his annoyance at his current predicament, he found that most of Matt's observed qualities he admired, perhaps would even respect, given time.

For one, this man, a scarce year older than he, did not feel the need to mince words. He seemed comfortable with silence, only speaking when the occasion called for it and even then with some reluctance. And unless provoked, Matt kept his grief to himself. There were no attempts to seek solace from his dissatisfied and disgruntled companion, respecting the detective's obvious desire for quiet and space.

Another thing he noticed as he listened to Matt's rapid typing on multiple keyboards and the blipping sounds emanating from the speakers, the screens of the computer blank once more, was that the man actually seemed honest. It took an incredible amount of effort for Near to keep hold of his suspicion that this man was not Matt, that he was an imposter with some hidden agenda. Even if this man had not been able to recall things only Matt could know, facts that were nearly impossible for a stranger to guess, the man hunched over his computers had a surprising genuine quality about him. And while he did not parade his pain around for show, he wore it on his sleeve, open and raw and bleeding. He was self-aware, a grace in his movements that belied the awkward gruffness of his person, yet he was not cocky with it. In fact, Near would almost describe him as humble.

And the Matt from his childhood never flaunted his brilliance, seeming not to care whether or not he was even in the running to become L's successor. As if it was some annoying accident that his mind worked faster than others, and that he was unable to hide it. And while Near did not actively pursue L's seat as furiously as Mello did, it had been a clear goal in his mind, the ultimate next step in the bland sequence of his life. Near expected the succession, while Matt had always seemed irritated that he was even recognized as a potential heir.

And yesterday, when this Matt had confessed his ability to translate computer code like listening to a foreign language he was fluent in, he had been aggravated and impatient with the acknowledgement. One would think that surprising the greatest living detective in the world with a talent of the mind would come as a compliment. But Near had never been able to master the ability to compliment others.

Abruptly, Matt scooted back from the desk, crushing out a half-smoked cigarette and standing. He stretched his arms over his head and arched his back. Near wasn't sure why his eyes focused immediately on the bared flesh of Matt's muscled stomach as the raised fabric of his shirt exposed it, but suddenly, he felt mesmerized, his eyes following the thin, dark trail of hair that began at his bellybutton and disappeared into his jeans. But then tapering fingers pulled the hem back down and Near blinked, glancing away. Matt yawned and sauntered into the kitchen, mussing his hair with both hands and shaking his head. "You hungry?"

"Somewhat."

"Grilled cheese is on the menu."

Near sighed as Matt pulled out a skillet from a cupboard. "Alright."

Matt made a face as he dropped some butter to melt on the saucepan. "Grilled cheese was on the menu last night too, and you didn't have a problem with it."

"I have not often been abducted, nearly train wrecked, and smuggled into a foreign country against my will," Near responded dryly. "Forgive me if I seem unwarrantedly ungrateful."

Matt surprised him by laughing. "Someone's grumpy."

"And you seem abruptly self-satisfied."

Matt dropped two slices of bread into the skillet. "Our flight leaves tomorrow. Arrangements are _finito_."

"I have no travel papers."

Matt added cheese to the sizzling confection. "Taken care of."

"What makes you think security won't be looking for someone of your description? Halle and Rester have seen you."

With one hand, Matt flipped the sandwich with a spatula, and with the other he held up two fingers and counted them off. "One: You and I both know your bodyguards wouldn't be stupid enough to make it common knowledge that you're missing. Two: Just in case they are, I programmed a virus to disable any memos to the airport security describing keywords like 'albino' and two males' and so on. One can never be too careful."

When Near didn't respond, Matt glanced askance at him, adding: "You'll be happy to know I reserved a hotel room. Much nicer than this. You'll like it."

Near accepted the grilled cheese sandwich when Matt handed it to him and took a tentative bite. It wasn't Wammy's gourmet, but truth be told, it wasn't terrible either.

"We'll land during the night in Japan, but we'll have to leave for the airport tomorrow while the sun is still out," Matt said, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching Near eat. "In a little bit, I'm going to go and get you some decent clothes, sunscreen and a hat. Maybe glasses too, to protect your eyes. You still have problems with sunlight?"

Near glanced up at him then, surprised by the consideration. His dark auburn hair fell messily into his un-masked eyes, the blue shining through in a splash of bright color. Near wondered, briefly, if Matt would trim it back if he asked him to. Near had liked the way it fell when he was a teenager, when Matt had relied on goggles and not hair to hide his face.

"Well?" Matt prompted.

"Protective eye-wear would be efficient."

Matt's eyes searched his for a moment. "Never knew your eyes were blue," he commented.

Near wasn't sure what to say to that, so he took another bite of his sandwich and chewed quietly until Matt dropped his gaze. Matt cleared his throat and stood.

"Do you necessitate sleep?"

"Huh?"

"You have not rested since we arrived here."

Matt shrugged and reached for his keys. "I can sleep on the plane."

Near nodded and took another bite, as Matt stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, shoving his hands into his pockets and struggling with some internal battle on whether to leave it, or say something else.

"They'll trace you and find me." Near was just provoking, at this point. Maybe it was out pity, a strange reaction for him, but Near found he didn't like how vulnerable Matt suddenly seemed.

It worked actually. Matt's back straightened and he grabbed a pair of goggles from the nearby desk and put them on. "No, they won't."

"I could trace you, and with my resources, so can Halle and Rester."

Matt smiled a little. He wasn't being cocky, but he certainly seemed amused. "Ah, no, you couldn't and no, _they_ couldn't."

"Anyone can be traced."

"Yeah," Matt agreed with a nod, something solemn darkening the spark in his grin. "And I never said I was untraceable. I just said _you_ wouldn't be able to, let alone your little minions." Blunt, to the point. Maybe someone would call it arrogance, but Near knew better. Matt was just being matter-of-fact. "I'll be back."

Near watched Matt's receding back as he left the room and shut the door behind him. When the door clicked shut, Near rose and shuffled to the trash bin, discarding the remains of the sandwich with a flick of his wrist.

Near sighed heavily, reaching into his front shirt pocket and retrieved the folded slip of paper the held the list Mello's will declared were the places he wanted his ashes scattered. He read it again for the hundredth time.

_1. L's Grave_

_2. Skull Rock_

_3. Panama Canal_

_4. Bridge to Nowhere_

_5. St. Josef in Mimmingen_

Near understood Mello's desire for something of himself to be with L's final resting place; and as they were going to Japan to gather ashes anyway, it suited them just fine that the first location was somewhat close by. The rest of the list perturbed him. Near had wondered, briefly, if Mello had used these terms to symbolize something else, some other location that actually meant something to him. But Mello was nothing if not literal and forthright, and Near had to concede that Mello had meant what he said. Consequently, that meant he was somehow obligated to travel with his unlikely companion around the globe.

The only Skull Rock Near knew of was the area in Jerusalem where Yeshua ben Yosef**1 **had been crucified centuries ago, a place where many Christians took pilgrimages to. It came as a startling revelation that Mello had been serious about his faith in the Christian god, and the rosary he had been seen with consistently since he was a child was not mere jewelry to the boy, but actual prayer beads. Mello had never struck Near as the religious sort, even though he certainly had shown an affinity for fanaticism when concerning all of his ambitions. Perhaps it served as an outlet for guilt, as confession and forgiveness was a common theme in Catholicism. When Near had questioned this to Matt, the other man had merely shrugged and remained quiet. Matt was also, Near had noticed during his close proximity with him, severely adverse to speaking about Mello. Near supposed that for him, the grief of Mello's death was still too near.

Near could not begin to guess the significance of the Panama Canal and he had absolutely no idea what the Bridge to Nowhere was. Matt had mumbled something about crossing it when they got there, that they'd take things one step at a time. Good logic, as far as Near was concerned. How they were going to get in and out of the Middle East without incident was still a mystery to both of them. Currently, Jerusalem and its bordering countries was considered hot zones by many national leaders, political unrest, insurgency and rebellion had been shaking the foundations of that whole area for years--even more so now that Kira was dead.

St. Josef of Mimmingen, Near deduced, was a church in Bavaria. According to the files at Wammy's, Mello originated from that area. He may have even been born there. Well and so, they had weeks of travel ahead of them and even though Matt was refusing to allow Near to contact Wammy's or his personal security until they were finished with Mello's will, he was committed to finding a way to communicate with Rester and Halle. When or how, was still technically a problem. Near had not been able to hack into Matt's computer systems during his absences, nor had he been able to find any sort of phone. Near was also unwilling to attempt going outside again. He knew it was illogical, but Near could not help the sudden overwhelming fear that shook him when faced with the outside world, that paralyzed him, shuddering every rational thought to an abrupt, immoveable halt.

If Near had a weakness, it was his inability to be independent. Matt knew this, which was why he had no problem leaving him on his own to run mysterious errands. And while Near resented being exploited, he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

Near re-folded the list and returned it to his shirt pocket, his fingers brushing over another occupant. Near retrieved the Jack of Hearts card he'd kept from his impromptu escape from Wammy's and regarded it solemnly. That, too, was a problem. Because if this man really was Matt, Near had no choice but to suspect him for the murders in Japan.

* * *

When Matt returned, his arms were laden with bags. He also, Near noticed, seemed fresh from a shower. Near considered snapping at the other man, if only because he felt forced to stay in this small room with no actual shower, only a small sink that Near considered a questionable, at best, source for cleanliness. But when Matt began emptying the contents of one of the bags, producing toiletries, shampoo, soap and a towel, the remark died in his mouth.

Matt set the items on a stool by the sink and handed Near a set of carefully folded clothes. There was a white collared shirt, made of expensive cotton that was incredibly soft to the touch, with full sleeves and smelled faintly of lavender. Pants, also, made of dark denim that was also strangely soft against his fingers when he touched it, and undergarments and shoes. When Near did not find any price tags, Matt murmured something about washing them after he purchased the items.

Near did not move and Matt turned and set the rest of his bags near the desk, retrieving a small tool set. Near watched him begin to disassemble his computer for a moment before rising to his feet and approaching the sink.

Near was hesitant, feeling strange in his own skin, as he mulled over the proposition of undressing in another man's company, even if his attention was averted—an attempt for privacy on Matt's part that was not lost on the detective. Much like his aversion to being outside, Near thought that this sudden awkwardness was irrational. It seemed they might be in multiple situations like this in the future, and he doubted Matt and Mello had ever felt discomfort in similar predicaments. Then again, Matt and Mello had always been friends, and Near had never had any of those. So he could not begin to fathom the rules of engagement for such...things. Eventually, stifling sigh, Near decided to bathe in parts, so he was never fully naked, and kept an eye on Matt as the other man bent over his computer system, dismantled every piece and set them quietly in separate piles.

The water went from hot to cold and back again sporadically, which only served to further irritate the detective. But the soap smelled fresh and piney, and did its part to wash the days-old grime off his skin. He was dressed in his new pants and stood shirtless in front of the sink when he abruptly encountered a new problem--his hair.

Behind him, sensing the pause, Matt lifted his head. "I'll wash it for you, if you promise not to spazz."

Near weighed his options for nearly a full minute before finally agreeing. Matt crossed the room wordlessly and pulled the stool in front of the sink, beckoning for Near to sit facing it. Matt placed another towel along the rim of the sink as Near settled and ran his fingers under the water. Frowning, he followed the pipes to where it went into the wall and gave a small kick. Near could not compute how that possibly changed the temperature of the water, but when he rested against the rim of the sink and let Matt guide his head under the spout, he found that it had, indeed, worked. Matt was gentle as he gathered Near's platinum, unruly locks into the water, making sure every strand was thoroughly soaked. When Matt began working the shampoo into his hair, Near began to feel relaxed, allowing the fingers massaging his scalp to lull him into a strange, drowsy state. It felt...nice. It was over far too quickly.

Matt wrapped a second towel around Near's head when he was finished and returned to his desk, as silent as ever. Near dried what he could of his thick hair and ran a brush through it when it was dry enough not to soak his new shirt. After completely dressing, he resumed his perch in the corner and settled in to watch Matt light a candle and begin the process of melting the hardware of every computer.

He was, apparently, not planning on taking any of his equipment with him.

* * *

"You were thorough with the sunscreen?" Matt clarified some hours later. He had finished destroying his computers and thoroughly wiping down the tiny apartment, and had just returned from throwing away any possible trace that they'd ever been there. Near stood in the kitchenette with his hands in his pockets, a dark, label-less baseball cap drawn low over his eyes and black sunglasses perched on his nose to add further protection to his retinas.

"Yes," Near answered.

"Good." Matt, dressed in a long-sleeved, close fitted shirt and worn jeans, slung a small pack over his shoulder, filled with traveling papers, false identification and cigarettes. "Alright, listen. The car's around back, but the door leading out to the garage is swarming with uniforms. Some bum OD'd and they're cleaning up the mess. So we're going to go out through the front entrance and then circle around the block." Matt waited for Near to nod before continuing. "The owner's kinda high-strung 'cause of the cops on his property. He's been running some backdoor shit and this dead guy's not good for his business. So I'm gonna need you to be cool, okay? Stay close, don't look around, and _keep moving_. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Good," Matt repeated and opened the door. "Let's get going."

Near followed Matt through the hall of peeling paint and down the flights of stairs with its rusted rails. The first floor was brightly lit in the daylight hours and Near blinked against the change light, already feeling the pressure against his eyes despite the sunglasses. The owner, a chubby man with greasy brown hair and nervous black eyes, stood buy the mailboxes, eyeing the police cars parked on his front curb through the glass of the front door. He glanced up at them briefly, but there were apparently more important things on his mind as he looked back at the door almost immediately. Matt walked steadily towards the front door, but as they closed in on it, that horrible cold feeling began forming in the pit of Near's stomach.

Near's pace slowed as the sounds of the world outside grew louder, irrational panic crawling up the back of his throat. His thoughts slowed, and so too, did his perception of things. Time seem to shudder to a halt as he finally balked, reversing his movement and backing up, his mouth twisting in fear. The owner was looking at him again.

Matt turned, glancing once at the owner's suddenly suspicious gaze, before quickly closing the distance between him and Near. Matt grabbed the cuff of Near's collar and dragged him behind the staircase and pressed him against the wall. Matt dug his fingers into the hair escaping the ball cap and buried his face into Near's neck. "Near!" he whispered harshly, letting the flesh of Near's throat muffle his words. Feeling the vibration and moist warmth against his skin, Near came back to himself in a jolt, a spasm shaking his limbs under Matt's weight. "Are you with me?"

Near nodded, swallowing as tendrils of Matt's hair tickled his nose and mouth.

Matt lifted his head to whisper directly into Near's ear. His voice was not kind as he grated: "I will get you to the car safely; I swear it, Near. But I need you to keep moving."

Near realized abruptly that to an outsider, they would appear to be embracing, and he stiffened, nodding jerkily. Matt retreated, grasping his wrist none too gently and roughly wrapping one arm around his shoulders. Matt kept his hold on Near firm, almost bruising, as he walked them to the door, kicking it open with one booted foot, and maneuvering onto the sidewalk. Near could feel the anger rolling off of Matt in waves even as the thunderous sounds of the busy street came crashing down on him. He felt like a helpless shaking thing as his heart hammered in his chest and his breathing became labored. Suddenly, Matt was shoving him into the passenger seat of a vehicle. Near did not notice until much later that it was an inconspicuous black Ford.

Near distantly registered the clacking sounds of Matt's boots echoing in the garage as he walked around the car and entered the driver's side. Matt slammed the door shut and tossed Near a bottle of aspirin and some water, kept cool in the center console. Near washed down two aspirin with the water and got his breathing under some semblance of control, all but melting boneless against his seat.

Matt did not start the car. Across from Near, Matt sat with his hands gripping the steering wheel, rigid as he glared straight ahead, his mouth a thin line in his handsome face.

"I apologize."

Matt made a short movement with his head, as if biting back a sharp retort. He put the keys into the ignition but then pulled his hand away, slamming it against the wheel with his palm. "People don't fucking listen," he muttered darkly. Matt shot a glare in Near's direction. "I don't say shit to hear myself talk, Near. When I give a directive, it's important. Don't do that again." That Mello hadn't listened, and that it had gotten himself killed, went unsaid. Near supposed Matt did not feel it bore repeating.

Matt turned the ignition.

* * *

They entered the airport much the same way they left the apartment in the city, with Matt's arm firmly around his shoulders, guiding him with his weight. Matt explained to the security they encountered that he was blind, and they allowed Near to walk him through the metal detectors without incident. Matt was his anchor as they maneuvered through the airport, and Near found himself clinging to Matt's shirt like a lifeline as the thunderous noise bore down on him, scrambling his thoughts and muting his reason. On the airplane, once they were seated, it became easier. Near still felt it was incredibly loud, but once the engines started and offered a sort of blanket of continuity to the raucousness of the other occupants, he felt himself returning to some semblance of normal.

Within the first hour, he felt the past few days' events begin to wear on him and he allowed himself to feel tired. Well into the second hour, Near had fallen asleep.

"He's funny, you know."

"Funny?"

"Yeah." Mello looked different today, more like he looked during the final weeks of his life. Handsome, despite the scarring, and lanky, tight-fitting leather covering his long legs and a black vest barely covering his torso. He sat on a child's swing, chewing thoughtfully on the cross-end of the rosary adorning his throat. "He's wicked funny."

"On purpose?"

"Nah." Mello twined the beads around his fingers. "Well, sometimes. It's the intensity, you know? It can be amusing if you look sideways at it."

"I don't understand."

"You usually don't." Mello glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a glimmer of his old insanity sparking in the bright green of his iris and the crooked lilt in his grin. "But we were never supposed to know _everything_."

"Do you know? Do you know everything now?"

Mello pursed his lips, tucking errant locks behind one pierced ear. "No. Not even now--I don't know everything."

"What _do_ you know?"

To that, Mello's grin became a deviant smile, white teeth flashing against the crucifix he gnawed on. "Everything."

Near opened his eyes, sitting up when he registered the sound of crying. It was Matt, next to him, sobbing quietly in his sleep. Near touched his shoulder and immediately Matt woke, flinching away from him. They stared at one another for a long moment, and Near found a glimpse of the youthful face of the Matt he remembered from his childhood in the other man's tear-swollen face. Suddenly, Matt unbuckled his seat belt and stood, dashing the back of his hand across his eyes. Near watched him disappear into the back of the plane. It was going to be a long flight.

**To be continued...**

**1** Aramaic for Jesus son of Joseph—I'm really just being obnoxious here. I first read that in Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel's Dart, and then later realized it was phonetic for the Aramaic name. I don't know if Near would actually be that literal in his mind, but I thought it would be fun to throw in there in anyhow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter** **Title**: Ruin  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: L, what befalls him at the close of the Yotsuba arch, and a few other bits and pieces.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi! I still feel a little awkward about the Halle and Rester scene, feeling it somewhat disrupts the flow of Matt and Near, and their growing camaraderie. However, I felt it had been long enough since we'd seen Near's bodyguards and it would be detrimental to later plot twists if I delayed any further in catching us up to what they're doing. Well and so, I'm very happy with the way this one turned out. We get to explore a new side of both Matt and Near, and see golden hints of what their relationship will morph into—which is always very fun to write. I hope you enjoy this and thank you very much for reading.

Yours,

Gloria

**Ruin**

"_Now you shall see the Temple completed:_

_After much striving, after many obstacles;_

_For the work of creation is never without travail;_

_The formed stone, the visible crucifix,_

_The dressed altar, the lifting light,_

_Light_

_Light_

_The visible reminder of Invisible Light."_

**From IX of Choruses from "The Rock" by T.S. Eliot**

June 8th, 2013

The foundations of intimacy were being laid, and Near felt it strengthen with trepidation. Matt sensed it too; Near saw the man's hesitation to reach for him when the plane landed in Japan. He had, however, and pulled him close as Near's eyes glazed over when the engines quieted and the clatter of reality descended once again.

Near processed little of their journey through the airport, or how Matt had procured a vehicle for them, or even the ride to the hotel, feeling only the heat of Matt's body and the rush of blood in his ears. He recalled that the lobby had been massive, as he was bent over a porcelain toilet bowl to retch the contents of his stomach, adorned with pale rose walls with large white pillars, a giant chandelier glittering from the ceiling, dancing light on the glossy marble floor. A hand, warm and soothing, rubbed circles into Near's back as he continued to retch, over and over, until there was nothing but acid.

A glass of cool water was pressed against his lips and Near took a dutiful sip, and then another, allowing the hydration to wash away the sour tang in his mouth and settle the fire in his stomach. His heart began to steady, allowing him to half-hear the words Matt mumbled into his hair. The revelation shook him that Matt was holding him from where they sat on the bathroom floor, rocking him in his arms as if he were a frightened child. Near straightened and Matt's arms fell away.

Touch was never a common experience in Near's life. Well, of course the basics of his somatosensory**1** system worked just fine, he wasn't that defective. Yet, the feel of another human body against his was a relatively foreign thing—and for the touches to be primarily gentle, even more so. His earliest memories were of a hospital, cringing as dozens of indifferent fingers poked and prodded him, nurses scurrying back and forth as they attempted to heal the delicate body of the albino orphan child. And later, in Wammy's, the only one who had dared touch him was Mello, but only in fits of anger. Matt had usually interceded before it got too violent; indeed, Matt sometimes had arrived before Mello did, anticipating his outburst and knowing his friend well enough to beat him there. Their scuffles had often been rough, Matt either successfully pulling Mello from the room, or they would resort to fist-fighting right there in front of Near, until Mello was soundly beaten and would, skulking, leave the room on his own, trailed closely by Matt who never once looked at Near. It was ever the only time he had seen them argue, when Mello was hell-bent on physically attacking Near.

Even Rester and Halle did not touch him unless he was asleep, and only then to move him from the floor to a bed.

Near had never had cause to wonder at this before. But now, as touch was becoming more frequent, and so too, did the seeming necessity of it, Near wondered if there was a difference in Matt's reaction to him than any other human he'd ever encountered, or if it was that Near was so...so socially inept that he didn't appear to need or desire touch. And if Matt ignored this because he had a different perception of what personal boundaries called for, or when those lines needed to be crossed. Or maybe it wasn't Near's need at all, maybe that had never changed. Perhaps it was simply that Matt was the one who required the closeness, or felt it was the only way he knew of to take care of his "ward". Near wondered how often Mello and Matt had touched.

Matt had left the hotel room during his musings, and returned a few hours later with his arms laden with new laptops, accessories and bags of clothes. Matt avoided Near's gaze as he set up his computers and, soon, he was typing away, hacking into some invisible system. Near watched him from the plush white sofa in the center of the living area until the light began trickling in from the draped windows, the sun peeking above the eastern horizon. Only then did Matt stir, rising to close the curtains.

Matt turned then, his eyes on his shoes, and mumbled: "We should get an urn."

Intimacy. It was a dangerous thing. And Near could not imagine a more intimate situation than for the two of them to shop for an urn for Mello. They left an hour later, but the streets were quiet in the early morning, and Near did not feel so overwhelmed. Even so, Matt held him by the shoulders and they entered the funeral shop like two mourning friends.

It was nearly silent and dimly lit, a thin, heavy-browed man standing solemnly in one corner. Matt left Near to stand in the foyer for only a moment to change the sign on the door from "OPEN" to "CLOSED". When he returned, he took Near by the hand, handed the man in the corner a thick wad of currency, and then walked to the back of the store. Urns were set on display, lining every wall atop multiple shelves. There were high tables also, with more expensive urns perched on their surfaces. Some were dark and glossy, some held ornate engravings, and others were decorated with traditional Japanese lettering. Some were garishly themed, while others were bland and simple. Some were round or oval shaped, while others where squat and square. Behind them, the man Matt had paid closed the door, murmuring in Japanese to knock when they were finished.

"You already paid him for the urn?" Near asked, frowning as his voice, inflectionless and low, seemed to disturb the quiet of this place.

"No. I paid for privacy."

Near glanced down at their entwined fingers and Matt, following his gaze, attempted to pull away. But Near followed a whim and tightened his fingers. Matt met his eyes then, the blue irises dark and searching. Near met his gaze unflinching, knowing in some part of him that he had breached a line Matt had been careful to avoid. This touch was not technically necessary; it was just the desire to be comforted. Who was comforting who, Near thought as Matt gave a small nod and let Near lead them to one corner of the room, was still a question he had no answers to. After half an hour of careful consideration, they silently agreed on a dark mahogany urn with gold trim, the glossy finish causing the red to shine vividly in the light.

Matt would not touch it, though he seemed satisfied with the selection, and Near was forced to carry the urn as they returned to the hotel.

* * *

"I spoke with the Commander at RAF Menwith Hill**2**," Rester said, entering Near's office where Halle was currently pacing. "Says there was a bird that went missing for some two days, and then returned on the lot like it was never gone. Whole base is buzzing with it." Rester paused, watching Halle distractedly push an errant lock from her face, her movements like an agitated cat as she stalked the office. "The regular captain, a--" Rester glanced down at the file in his hand, thumbing through the documents within, "a Joe Starks, USAF, has several witnesses placing him within the base at the time of the disappearance. I was thinking of interviewing him. Halle."

Halle paused and looked up at him, her beautiful face worn with worry. "Okay. Joe Starks. Got it. I'm going to Japan."

"I beg your pardon?" Rester set the file on his desk as Halle ran a hand roughly through her hair.

"I just keep thinking, that guy--he did look an awful lot like Matt. I want to re-examine the body."

"Ah."

"I'll do it myself this time. Rester, he came in here like he owned the place, like whatever prerogative he had was far more important than whatever Near was working on, and he acted like he expected Near to be compliant. Doesn't that seem strange?"

"Halle."

"What if it _was_ Matt, Rester? What would that mean?"

"Halle." Rester sighed heavily and put his hands on her shoulders to calm her, to force her to look him in the eye. "It would mean that we would have a name, along with a face. It would mean we would have a profile on who this guy is, what he can do, and what he might want. It won't mean that you failed Near, Halle. You understand me? It won't mean this is your fault."

Halle looked away. "I know." The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little. Then she looked back at him. "Do you think it would mean this is personal, Rester? That...Near and--"

_This has personal written all over it. _Rester blinked. "I don't want you going alone. Wait for me to finish in Menwith."

"No, I have to go now. We don't have that kind of time."

"The murders in Japan--"

"I know; I've thought of that." Halle offered a smile, fake as plastic jewelry but appreciated all the same. "I'll be fine, partner. I'll stay in touch, call if I find anything."

Rester frowned.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm a big girl."

"And those were big men that got whacked in their own precinct."

Halle wasn't listening anymore. She grabbed her badge and her gun and walked towards the door. "I'll call," she promised over one shoulder.

"You had better," Rester muttered.

* * *

Matt's grip on his shoulders was softer as they made their way from the car to the hotel, the garage empty and silent save for their echoing footfalls. They seemed, almost, like comrades. Yet, when Near looked up into Matt's face, his expression was shuttered, his eyes hard and distant. So distracted was Matt, that he led them straight into another couple in the lobby, young and obnoxious, American, from their accent. Matt apologized to them in a low voice, his free hand moving to his pocket, and veered Near away from the disgruntled couple and into an elevator.

When they arrived back in their hotel room, Matt did something very strange. He went to his desk and retrieved a small pack of chewing gum from one of the bags he'd brought back the night before, offering a stick to Near, who shook his head. Near placed the urn on the coffee table, watching Matt out of the corner of his eye as he pulled out a stick of gum and tossed the package—and the gum—onto the floor, keeping only the silvery gum wrapper in his hands. Then Matt booted up his computer system and began folding the wrapper. He put it to his mouth and blew softly, causing a strange whistling sound to emerge**.3** He frowned and fiddled with the wrapper some more. He seemed satisfied when he blew into it again, and then bent to retrieve a shirt from another bag, which he tossed to Near.

"Put that on," Matt said distractedly as he produced a cellular phone from his pocket. Near stared at the phone, instantly realizing that the 'bump' into the couple in the lobby hadn't been accidental. Near frowned in disapproval, but did not comment. Instead, he held up the shirt. It was made of the same soft cotton of the shirt Matt had bought—or stole, Near was beginning to suspect—for him in Berlin, and was a deep burgundy color. It smelled faintly of lavender.

By the desk, Matt whistled through the wrapper at the phone. Instantly, it lit up and sang back at him. He typed something into one of the keyboards with one hand, waited a moment, and then held it up to a speaker, which shrilled and beeped. The stolen phone began to dial a number and Matt held the device up to his ear. Matt glanced side-long at Near and pointed at the shirt. Near was about to object when Matt held up a finger to his lips, silencing him, and then smiled broadly.

"Danny-boy!" Matt greeted enigmatically into the phone. Matt's tone startled Near, who hadn't heard him even remotely that happy or pleased in their short time together, nor so..._affectionate_. "Yeah, it's me. How's the wife?" Matt leaned against the edge of the desk, his eyes skipping up to Near's—which were still as dark and solemn as he'd ever seen them. Matt gestured to the shirt again. "Uh-huh. Well, that's good. Good. No; well, I'm calling in a solid 'you owe me'."

Near looked down at the shirt again, feeling uncomfortable. He turned and began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it off and replacing it with the burgundy one. The sleeves were long and the cuffs went past his knuckles, but Near liked them that way anyway. Matt's eyes were hot on his back. Near turned to meet his stare.

"Yeah, I get that," Matt said into the phone, his eyes burning for a moment as they bored into Near's. But then he glanced away and began pacing. "What do you have that's fast?" A pause, and Matt laughed. "A jet." Another pause. "One that can be trusted to keep his mouth shut, or none at all. I can fly it myself." Another pause, this one longer. Then, "Israel."

_"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" _came the voice on the opposing line.

Matt grimaced and held the phone away from his ear. When he returned it, the man on the other end was still shouting and Matt was beginning to look angry. "Look, _friend_, you and I both know this can go one of two ways."

Near fiddled with the over-long cuffs, his mind working quickly. Matt was trying to get them a private flight into Israel using some mysterious private network. The fact that it was out of consideration for Near did not escape the detective. However, he was more fascinated with the thought that whoever Matt was speaking to was powerful enough to supply them a jet, and that Matt had the ability to _threaten_ him into giving him one.

"Hey, fuck you, Danny-boy, I do not destroy everything I touch," Matt growled. "I'll get you your damn plane back. Okay, fine, but he better stay quiet. No—no, we have something to do first...tomorrow morning, oh-nine hundred. Japan. Yeah, no, Danny-boy. You already know my answer to that—as long as I have too! No, just the one." Matt glanced at Near again. "I'm not telling you," he said into the phone. "No, you don't have a right to know...I don't give a fuck if it's your goddamn plane. You're pilot stays in the cockpit, do you understand me? If he tries anything, I swear to—okay. Alright, okay. Oh-nine hundred. That bridge we used last time." A long pause, and then Matt smiled grimly. "I'm glad we understand one another." There was something deadly in the way Matt said those words that caused shivers to run down Near's spine. Near wondered, briefly, if Mello had ever been the more dangerous one at all.

Matt hung up the phone and they stared at one another for a long moment.

"Who's 'Danny-boy'," Near asked finally, doubting that was the man's real name.

Matt's mouth twisted. "A friend."

A lie. Near couldn't fathom how Matt expected him to trust him. He sighed. "Do you ever do anything legally?"

Matt's temper blazed again, the faint lines around his nose and mouth going white, his shoulders going stiff with tension. "Oh, don't go getting on your high horse, Near. You're no better than me, and you know it." Matt turned and angrily jabbed at a few computer keys, holding the phone to the speakers as it beeped and whined. "Legal implies law, and one of the first things we learned in Wammy's is that law and religion are just a set of rules created by those in power to control the weak-minded and malleable."

"Law serves other purposes—"

"And those in power," Matt continued, running over Near's voice as if he'd never spoken and tossing the phone into a waste bin, "can easily be controlled by their own secrets, their own desires, their own greed. I can know anyone's secrets, and so can you. I do it through code; you do it with your mind." Matt looked at him then, his eyes burning with some intensity Near couldn't name. "I know your secrets, Near," Matt said quietly, approaching him, closing in, too close. "Does that make me dangerous to you?" Near stared into his eyes, unmoving, unblinking, rigid in his silent defiance. He could feel Matt's breath hot on his cheek. "Are you afraid of me?" Matt asked softly.

_Yes._ He said instead: "No."

Matt smiled a little, a bitter twist of his lips, and backed up a step. "Of course not. Sorry. Sometimes—sometimes I feel like I'm becoming him. Angry all the time." His eyes were sad now, as he reached up and traced the line of Near's collar. "Color looks good on you. You shouldn't always wear white."

Before Near could fully register that, Matt had stepped around him and headed for the bathroom. "The church is twenty miles from here, and the cemetery where they buried L is an hour from that. We can get both done tonight."

"Agreed." Near did not turn, staring straight ahead, feeling frozen in space.

"We'll leave at sundown," Matt called over his shoulder, and kicked the bathroom door shut.

Near let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

* * *

The church was a ruin. A few beams of the condemned structure still stood at awkward angles, a broken skeleton of the building it once was. It was very dark, the twilight deepening to a blue-black, the scattered stars doing little to light their journey from the car.

Matt balked at the entrance, the smoking cigarette slack in his fingers. Near stared at him curiously, Mello's urn tucked safely in one arm, but Matt shook his head, not quite meeting his eyes. Near understood, in a way. He supposed the idea of entering the building where Mello had died would be disturbing to Matt, who was once his closest friend. Near did not make him ask, and Matt's eyes lifted in quiet appreciation when Near took the initiative and stepped up to the ruin alone.

The air was still and dry, disturbed dust swirling in his wake as he maneuvered through the beams, passed stonework that survive the fire, into the belly of the structure.

"Not many churches in Japan," the child Mello observed.

"No."

"Christianity didn't seem to take as well here as in other countries." Mello looked painfully thin in his oversized black shirt, his jagged, bob-cut yellow-blond hair moving in stray wisps around his round face. "I like the way the Japanese pay homage to their dead, though."

"Do you?"

"Yes," Mello answered with a bob of his head, so adult-like in mannerism, his quicksilver mind ever at war with the small body it was trapped in. Mello had always seemed that way. Trapped within himself. "Incense and shrines, prayers and humble requests for guidance."

"Do you want me to ask you to guide me?"

Mello looked at him then, his big green eyes wide and dark with utter severity. "You already have. Why do you think I'm here?"

Near returned to find Matt staring hollow-eyed at the remains of the church, his features ashen, the slight tremor in his left hand more noticeable than it usually was. When Near touched his arm, Matt shuddered all over and looked at the detective with a stricken gaze. Matt opened his mouth to say something, but it seemed to die in his mouth.

"Come," Near said, and took his hand.

Matt was silent the entire drive to the cemetery, and Near watched the shadows deepen in his face. Near could sense the despair welling up in the man, it was such a tangible thing. He wasn't sure what he would do when it finally broke him.

Matt had to climb the massive wrought-iron fence to let them into the cemetery, and even though the effort seemed to wind him, he did so without complaining. They walked wordlessly among the rows of grave stones, the stone and marble glimmering white now that the moon had risen. Matt paused in front of one; an unmarked granite cross, massive and stained a white-grey.

"This is it?"

Matt nodded, shoving his shaking hand into his jeans pocket.

Near unscrewed the lid of the urn, a puff of ash escaping passed the rim as he did so. Matt turned his face away. Near considered offering the urn to Matt, feeling, somehow, like an intruder, feeling that this was Matt's place, not his. But he knew Matt would refuse, and the man was already distraught. His hands were dirty from gathering the ashes at the ruin, but it felt different when he put his hand inside the urn and grabbed a fistful of ashes. This symbolized all that was left of Mello, all that was left of who he was and what he wanted. Dust to dust...ashes to ashes. Well and so.

Near scattered the ashes over L's grave in a sweeping motion, feeling something pass through him like a sigh. He shivered as it whispered along his skin, wove through the curling strands of his white hair. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass and not ever really wanting it to stop.

When he opened his eyes, Matt was gone. Near found him eventually, standing over another unmarked stone cross, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"L told me, when I was ten, that he wanted me to have his seat," Matt confessed in a small voice, his eyes distant as he stared at the mysterious grave. "I told him I didn't want it, that it was too much power for any one man." Matt swallowed. "He said that was why he wanted me to have it. Because I didn't want it."

"I never met L," Near said, equally as quiet. He tucked the urn under his arm and looked up at Matt. "What was he like? In person?"

Matt glanced aslant at him. "Strange enough to be normal, considering." Matt sighed heavily, pulling the smoke from his mouth with thumb and forefinger. He stared at it contemplatively. "He was...he was lonely."

"Lonely?"

"Very. Though I don't think he ever realized it. It wasn't something he felt was important, to have friends, company, someone to share his thoughts with. I think that changed after he encountered Kira."

"How so?"

"He let him kill him. He must have thought it was worth it, in the end. To die at the hands of someone so brilliant, so...like him. And yet, unlike him." Matt dropped the cigarette and crushed it out with his boot. "I can almost assure you, L always knew Yagami Light was Kira."

"I agree."

"He made a good decision, declaring you his heir."

To that, Near did not know what to say. He knew he did his job well, but L's approval was never really something that mattered to him. And yet, it coming from Matt felt altogether different. Uncomfortably strange...and strangely comforting.

"He told me one day I might regret it," Matt murmured. He looked over at Near, some nameless thing moving behind his eyes. "But I don't. Never have I regretted refusing him. I've never really had a grounded sense of right and wrong. Not like you."

"Mello never knew L offered it to you?"

Matt laughed a little, short, self-deprecating laugh. "I think that goes without saying. He would have throttled me in my sleep." Somehow, Near got the impression that Matt was dead serious.

Near gestured with his free hand to the unmarked stone cross. "Whose grave is this?"

Matt met his gaze squarely, his eyes black in the darkness. "Mine."

Near stared back, unblinking. "Then who is in the ground?"

Near did not expect an answer, so he was unsurprised when his question was greeted with nothing but silence.

* * *

A man standing the shadows put a phone to his ear, waiting patiently as the cellular dialed his employer's number. When she answered in a clipped voice, he said: "Target was here. He just left the cemetery." A pause. "Yes, I'm sure. And he has the package with him." The man smiled, his grin flashing white against the light emanating from the cellular. "I'll make the call," he said, and hung up.

**To be continued...**

* * *

**1** The somatosensory system is the one within the body that controls all of body's inner and outer sensory receptions, including tissue, organs, skin etc. It is the process whereby neurons are recognized and transmitted through the spinal stem and brain to cause sensation and feeling. I felt that Near would make that clarification, believing both entities to be separate and equally important, even though...they're not; not really. But I thought that to avoid cliché-esque narrative about "Ooh! He touched me, however do I react to this?", I could throw that in to make Near's thoughts more relevant to his characterization and mannerisms depicted in the canon.

**2** Menwith Hill is a factual US military base in North Yorkshire, England. It is somewhat of a "head base" to the many other ones littered across the country. The RAF Commander is a sort of a steward to this network of U.S. bases in England, and RAF officers act as sub-stewards, behaving as liaisons between the RAF Commander, and the smaller base they personally oversee.

**3 **I got this idea straight from The Core. That hacker in the film, handled "Rat" and played by one of my favorite actors, D.J. Qualls, did something similar to give Aaron Eckhart free long-distance on his phone forever. I thought it was brilliant, and used the process here, thinking it would be something clever and hacker-ish for Matt to do. As always, no infringement intended.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Scattering Ashes  
Chapter Title: Corpse  
Summary: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
Disclaimer: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
Pairing: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
Spoiler Warning: None; not really.

Alternate Warnings: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

Author's Note: Hi everyone. I apologize for the length between updates—RL slapped me in the face and I've been recovering. Also, this chapter and the next one are proving exceptionally difficult. I had to do quite a bit of research on many different things. I had to drill my dad for Intelligence info he was reluctant to give, I had to look up stuff on satellites and cell grids and ground control operations for Israel. I had to sit and ponder for hours possible scenarios for the Middle East and the world political stage five years in the future (given the reign of Kira existed)—and it was rather...hard. I'll admit that there are parts of this chapter that stretched me thin. Things I had to cut for flow that sort of takes away from realism in the long run...but at the end of the day, I had to concede that this was a fanfic, and I had to be willing to laugh at myself and not take it so damn seriously. It's just that...I'd like it to be as realistic as possible. So, I hope that what did make it into the final cut still gives it that effect for you, and I'll certainly be willing to explain terms and the conclusions I've made for scenarios should you have any questions.

Also, the Kameda Medical Center in Kamogawa is actually factual. During my research, I discovered stuff about this facility and I thought it was compelling, as well as beautiful. Of course, I do not own anything correlated to KMC and no infringement is intended, nor profit gained by adding its reference into this chapter.

I hope you enjoy the update, and thank you very much for reading.

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Five

**Corpse**

"_There came one who spoke of the shame of Jerusalem_

_And the holy places defiled;_

_Peter the Hermit, scourging with words._

_And among his hearers were a few good men,_

_Many who were evil,_

_And most who were neither._

_Like all men in all places..."_

**From VIII of Choruses from "The Rock" by T.S. Eliot**

June 9th, 2013

Matt was rigid and silent as he dropped Near off in their hotel room, walking him to the door and making sure he was settled out of self-styled duty, and not so much out of any real desire for Near's company. Near sensed it in him, his need to leave, to be away, to drink or walk or disappear in some back alley—whatever it was that Matt did to handle his grief when it became too much to handle on his own. When he returned, a scant half hour later, he surprised Near by being sober. He seemed lighter, even if his demeanor was still as solemn as ever. A weight had lifted and it was visible in Matt's face as he offered a short "Hi," to Near, who eyed the bags he was carrying with obvious interest.

"I got you something." Matt reached into one bag and produced a puzzle made of all white pieces. Near's heart skipped a beat when he saw it, grabbing at the box and immediately tearing open one side. Matt smiled a little as Near spilled all one thousand small pieces on the floor and sat in front of the pile, picking up one piece and staring at it contemplatively.

"I got you a few something's," Matt amended, handing Near the bag, who took it distractedly and set it next to him. Matt turned and gathered a few electronic devices, a set of small tools, and some spare wire, and sat down on the floor as well, spilling the black and silver pieces in his lap. He pulled his goggles up from around his neck and adjusted them over his nose. "One something at a time, I guess."

Near's long, pale fingers sifted unhurriedly through the pile of puzzle pieces, feeling his thoughts sharpen as if some semblance of 'normal' had just been re-inserted into his life. He found one corner edge piece and set it by his bare foot. "What are you doing?" Inflectionless, per usual.

Matt selected a tiny tool and used it to pry open one of the devices. "Preparing."

Near did not expect a direct answer, so he continued to work with his puzzle. He was nearly finished, some two hours later, when he brought his attention back to the man sitting across from him. Matt had created an entirely new device--that looked suspiciously like a small satellite—from the other small pieces, and was currently holding one of his many small speakers up to it and typing rapidly into a keyboard perched precariously in his lap. An unlit cigarette was clenched between his teeth and Matt had a look of immense concentration twisting his handsome features.

Near waited for Matt to pause his one-handed typing and set down the speaker before asking: "Preparing for our flight?"

Matt grunted, frowning severely at his new contraption. Near reached for the bag, finally curious as to what other gifts Matt had brought him, and found many boxes of identical, cube-shaped dice. Near smiled a little, taking one of the boxes and dumping its contents on top of the nearly completed puzzle. "Thank you," Near murmured.

"Ah." Matt scratched his neck and stretched his back, popping out stiff joints as he did so. "Dice first next time."

"I appreciate the puzzle as well."

Matt grunted again and yawned loudly. "In Berlin, I tapped into IAI," he said. His voice was soft and low, but it felt abrupt in the near silence they had shared for so many hours. "When we got here, I was able to hack into the EROS, Amos and Ofeq series satellites. Also, I've manipulated IAI's DBS and ECM systems, but that programming won't kick in until we're in-flight." Matt yawned again, gesturing lazily to his project. "But all that is cake compared to cellular grids. Danny-boy'll skin me alive if the Israelis confiscate his plane, so they can't know we're in their aerospace."

Understandable precautions, given the particular area they were flying into.

Jerusalem is, and has been, the capital for both Israel and the Palestinians. Iran and Pakistan have also long fought for the area known as eastern Jerusalem. The reign of Kira had weakened the world political stage and threatened to over-throw the Jewish-American vote on who owned what land, and endangered the NATO protection of their Israeli ally. After the fall of Kira, Iran—the largest standing army in the Middle East—made their move and invaded Israel, taking its capital hostage. During the scramble to assert order and control, Palestinian guerillas burrowed in as well, creating chaos with the invading army, the Jewish government, and severely angering Pakistan. All the while, American troops were forced to retreat as the assassination of the American President by Kira left a weakling in office more concerned about the home front then their foreign diplomacy. For two years, bloody Holy Wars were raged on Eastern Jerusalem on all sides until finally a new American President was elected and the NATO allies made their presence known in Israel again. The American President lifted the waiver delaying the move of the American Embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem and now has a base there. This Embassy is not internationally recognized, nor is whose capital Jerusalem is, causing the weak stalemate to be tumultuous at best. Well and so, for all their efforts, Pakistan still threatens nuclear war, Palestinian guerillas continue to raise havoc in the streets at a moment's whim, and Iran is claiming they will secede Israel if NATO recognizes their claim to the whole of Jerusalem, while American and English troops attempt to maintain a sense of order and protection for the Jewish and Palestinian citizens.

Near is not a politician. He is a detective. That being said, it is his job to know these things. He also knows that for someone to willingly give a jet and a pilot to a hacker who is supposed to be dead, is not only strange...it pointed at another conclusion. Matt obviously had a network of resources at his disposal. Near needed to find out what these resources were, and who made up his network. It unsettled him that he had no idea Matt was so thoroughly connected. Three years seems too short a time to have gathered so many..._friends_.

Near blinked slowly. "I understand."

"Right. So." Matt gestured again to his device, and Near looked at it this time. "This little baby will knock out the grid while we enter, land, and will give enough time for the pilot to take off again."

"The plane will leave us."

Matt nodded, pulling down his goggles and allowing them to hang around his neck. "We'll have twenty-four hours to get into Jerusalem, do the thing, and get back to the pick-up zone; and then the whole thing happens again, only in reverse."

"That will knock out 'the grid'." Near paused, setting one dice on top of another. "The cellular grid?"

"Yes."

"Why the whole grid?"

Matt smiled self-deprecatingly. "Well, in a perfect world, I would just scramble the signal, or create a superficial module that doesn't have us on the map. But...it's impossible with the cell grid."

"Impossible."

"Well, okay, I'm sure there's a way, but I have limited resources and, frankly, no one else has been able to do it and—"

"You do not have to justify to me."

Matt's lips twisted. It looked like a frown, but when Near looked up, Matt's eyes were dancing with amusement. Near averted his gaze and continued to build his dice. "You are very capable."

"I know."

Near's mouth curved, the corners lifting in his face. Matt tilted his head. Near could feel Matt's eyes burning into him.

"Competent, also," Near murmured, his voice so quiet it was barely heard.

Matt did not quip at that, sensing the serious pretense in Near's demeanor. Matt waited.

"When this is over, you should come back to Wammy's."

"Should?"

Near curved the rows of stacked dice, creating a rook. "Under my employ."

Matt laughed harshly. "Fuck no."

Near glanced up at him through his white hair, the black of his pupil wide and consuming. "Would it be so terrible, to work for me?" Before Matt could answer that, Near continued. "When you came for me, I remember a device in the glove box. It turned off the alarm. My security network never would have discovered you if you hadn't purposefully allowed it to."

Matt nodded, gazing over at the hunched detective with lidded cornflower blue eyes.

"You activated the alarm with the intention of forcing me to order the Code Nine defense." Near selected another set of dice, placing them strategically on his creation. "Your consideration for the faculty and the student body, plus your obvious competency and skill, would be a valuable asset and quite useful to--"

"I'm not interested in being used by anybody."

Near met his gaze unwavering. "You're letting yourself be used by Mello, and he's been dead for three years."

Matt's face went tight and shuttered, his eyes hard as glass. "I have a sense of moral obligation to an old friend," Matt bit out. "And fuck you."

Near seemed unfazed by Matt's obvious warning, and verbally charged on unblinking. "I admit I am somewhat morally obtuse when it comes to social matters. However, I find I would be much more comfortable regarding the safety of the student body of the orphanage if you updated the security measures."

Matt snorted. "You're not morally obtuse, you're selfish. There's a difference. And you wouldn't be able to tell me a single thing about a single child in Wammy's House."

Near blinked slowly. Then: "I do not grieve Mello the way you do; I never meant to negate that. I do miss him--or rather, I miss the challenge he represented. He was interesting. But I find you have taken his place as far as interesting challenges go. You abduct me to _scatter ashes _around the _world_, indifferent but well aware of the horrific results that could occur if anyone, any nation, any underground network, any politician with more than his worth of men instilled in his pocket, ever found out I was gone. And you thrust me into situations where I am forced to depend on you, to rely on you, to not seek escape and allow my mind to be muddled by confusion. It keeps me quiet, moveable, manipulated. It keeps me malleable to your 'moral obligation'--something I'm sure you're quite aware I would never have been interested in on my own." Near breathed in slowly, his fingers moving carefully over his dice castle. "It's...clever of you. I respect your mind, Matt. I can understand, now, why L considered you for his seat. You are as shrewd as your mind is brilliant."

Matt frowned at the puzzle and dice he had brought the detective, regretting suddenly he had thought to do so at all. Matt sighed. "I'm not flattered, if that's your intention."

"I do not intend to flatter you. You have refused my offer; what will cause you to reconsider?"

Matt leant his head back and stared at the ceiling. "I'll reconsider if you can tell me the first and last name of any child in the current generation at Wammy's."

Near frowned, his hands stilling over his dice. "That's not my area. Roger handles the children."

"It _is_ you area," Matt all but spat at Near, his eyes suddenly blazing. "What the hell did you think you were inheriting? Just a fucking name? Being L is a responsibility, not just a power seat for the most brilliant bidder."

"The orphanage is just a cover."

"The _orphanage_ is a facility that houses _human lives_, attempts to fake the nurturing of gifted _children_, orphaned by war, or chance, or politics--so you can sit in a room and think?" Matt stood abruptly, making a sound of disgust. "I gave you my terms and you gave your answer. This conversation is over. I am no one's Watari. And I'll be damned if I ever become part of what turned Mello into a monster."

And just to be sure Near understood that the conversation was, indeed, over, Matt plugged a set of large earphones into his computer and shut off his speakers. He put on the earphones and sat down in front of the desk, bending over his work and ultimately ignoring Near until the sun began to rise, some four hours later.

Near had to concede internally, after the first hour of being completely disregarded, that their conversation had not gone as well as he had hoped.

It was around six in the morning when Matt began destroying his computers and wiping down the hotel room, thorough as ever. However, he kept one laptop whole and placed it and his earphones, his latest creation, and a large bulky device that looked like a very old cellular phone into a black knapsack. Then he gathered their access clothes, the trash, and Near's newly acquired puzzles and dice and disappeared with them down the hall. He returned some forty minutes later and gestured to Near, who rose like a sullen child, deprived of a favorite toy. He collected Mello's urn and met Matt by the door.

Instead of wrapping his arm snugly around Near's shoulders this time, Matt merely placed a hand on the small of the detective's back, guiding gently as they maneuvered together through the hotel. Near felt more exposed this way, but he found it was certainly getting better, these panic attacks that shook him when going outside. Near listened with half an ear as Matt checked them out, smiling cheerily at the receptionist in that annoyingly fake way of his and chatting amiably with the receptionist in Japanese. Near was irritated, abruptly, by how easy it seemed for everyone else to speak to this man. Near wondered if he'd ever get it right.

Near was used to upsetting people. He'd been doing that intentionally or otherwise since before he could remember. Usually, however, it happened when he pointed out the fault lines in another person's train of logic, making it painfully clear how stupid he felt they were. And, quite frankly, it amused him to watch a stupid person become angry--because, in the end, it's never about the insult, or the lack of intelligence, it's about the bruised ego and the damaged pride. It fascinates him to see how a person's fragile sense of self could inflate and deflate on a moment's cruel whim.

But this man was not stupid—whether or not he was truly Matt notwithstanding--and he was also holding all of the cards. Upsetting Matt had never been Near's intention.

The car ride was relatively short, a mere hour northwest. By eight, they were driving passed 'Do Not Enter' signs and pulling onto an abandoned strip of cement and iron that used to be a bridge.

Near took his cue and exited the car as Matt did. It was quiet here, and they were alone, so the panic in his chest was a muted thing and Near breathed in deeply to smother it. He watched dispassionately as Matt wiped down the vehicle. After Matt was finished with that, he lit a cigarette and retrieved the large black device that looked like a very old cellular phone. He dialed a number and held it up above his head, his goggled eyes searching the early morning sky.

Within a few minutes, they heard the trumpeting whine of an approaching aircraft. Matt juggled the bulky phone and cigarette with one hand, and used the other to guide Near further out onto the abandoned bridge.

Near could admit to himself he was frightened as the small jet made its descent. Matt had to adjust Near's position beside him twice as the aircraft landed. At first, Near was way too close. Then Matt laughed as the roaring jet skidded towards them on the bridge and Near attempted to back away. Apparently, Matt had their position down to a science, for Matt never moved, and the jet halted a safe distance away.

Whoever Danny-boy was, he was certainly a man that kept his word, and made sure his men did too. The pilot never left the cockpit.

Matt spent most of the flight in the cockpit with the mysterious Danny-boy's pilot, leaving Near alone with his thoughts—thoughts that were taking a turn for the dangerous. The more Near contemplated, the faster his mind worked, the more his need to know who this man was, who he was connected to--and to what purpose--outweighed Near's former desire to just get this thing done and over with.

The intensity with which Matt's temper flared and diminished perturbed Near, making him believe that this man was unstable. And Near wasn't sure if it was just grief.

However, Matt's emotional state was the least of Near's worries at this point.

Matt had arranged for a private jet to fly into a determined war zone.

Around and around his thoughts went in his mind, calculating, viewing plausible solutions and being discarded, one by one, over and over and over. Near was beginning to feel ill. His stomach churned and a burning chill stole over his chest. He forced himself to breathe slowly to temper it as his fingers twitched in idleness.

The plane began to shake with turbulence and a few minutes after the shaking started, Matt came out to check on him. Near did not look up as Matt took the seat next to him.

Cool fingers pushed Near's platinum locks from his brow, and Matt replaced them with the back of one hand, frown at how warm Near's skin was. "You have a temperature. Would you like some water?"

The plane dipped harshly, and then evened out. Near swallowed against a swell of nausea. "I'm fine."

Matt sighed and removed his hand. "I'm not angry with you."

"I would not care if you were," Near replied, staring at the drops of condensation on the window by his seat.

Matt was silent for a time before speaking again. "When we land, the jet is going to need to refuel. I've arranged for us to land at an old airstrip. There will be two jeeps and four people. They will refuel the jet and then leave, taking only one jeep with them. I'll track them until they're at least ten miles away, and then we will disembark. We will not leave the plane until then, do you understand?"

_You are not paying attention._

Near blinked slowly, turning his head to find the other voice in the cabin, gooseflesh breaking out over his heated skin.

When Near looked passed Matt, the hacker's frown deepened. "Near?"

_You are not paying attention._

Near saw him then, a blurred vision of L crouched in a seat on the other side of the cabin, indistinct smudges of black, blue and white. Near began to sway, his heart pounding in his chest. "L?"

L did not look at him, keeping his bottomless black eyes fixed straight ahead. His lips moved. _You are not paying attention._ Grieving disappointment made his breathy words heavy in the foggy air between them. Near began to feel dizzy.

Matt was on his feet and shaking the detective as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"Near! Oh, fucking hell..."

* * *

"Thank you. For doing this."

Shuichi Aizawa smiled a little and accepted Halle's outstretched hand. He seemed a little uncomfortable with the western greeting, but he handled it with the gruff, quiet grace that had settled into his bones years ago. "It's nothing," Aizawa responded in halting English, dropping his hand to his side when she released him. Together, they boarded the train headed for Kamogawa.

The morgue Matt's body had originally been reviewed in before his burial had declined to re-inspect the body, and the cemetery had reported a break in the day before and were adamantly refusing Halle in her attempts to have the grave excavated. After twelve hours of going in circles with the Japanese officials, she had called Aizawa, who used his position in the Japanese police force to pull some strings and have the body moved.

Aizawa understood their reluctance to re-open any file that had anything to do with the Kira case, something that had shaken the very foundations of political and cultural Japan—something that everyone was still trying to recover from. Capturing Kira seemed easy in comparison to re-taming the monsters that Kira had unleashed in the very hearts of people. It was no simple thing, going back to how it used to be, when the fundamental boundaries between right and wrong had been left to law and government, and then been torn asunder, twisted and scratched raw, until everyone had to come to terms with their own morality, their own judgments on good and evil, on who got to live or die.

Mostly, people wanted to forget. It was easier not to remember who supported Kira and who didn't if no one talked about it. Now that law was back as the ruling government, and not the schemes of some self-styled utopian god, it saved lives to look the other way, to not ask questions, to try to return to some semblance of normal. Forgive and forget.

Nobody did. Not really. It had only been three years. But certainly, no one wanted any westerner digging up graves and second guessing facts people just wanted buried and gone.

Aizawa cleared his throat. "Why is...N...chasing ghosts?" He spoke in Japanese and Halle answered in kind.

"He's not. They're chasing him."

Aizawa's heavy brows drew together. "The boy? Mello's friend?"

Halle met his gaze squarely. "That's why I'm here. To be sure."

Aizawa scratched his mustache, frowning in deep thought. "He was...one of the only ones not killed by the 'note'."

Halle blinked. That was true. They were silent for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. After about an hour, Halle asked: "Why Kamogawa?"

"The Kameda Medical Center is more of a spiritual establishment than a political one." Aizawa smiled his small, quiet smile. "Fewer questions. More honest answers."

"Do I need to pretend to be a grieving family member?"

The smile reached his dark eyes. "No. They are intelligent people; they will know you are being insincere."

It was a breathtaking establishment. It represented the very core of how the Japanese honored antiquity and ancestry. Most of the staff was of generations that went back as far as three hundred and fifty years in the same community of doctors and chaplains and grief counselors, morticians and priests. The gorgeously appointed building overlooked the deep turquoise waters of the Pacific Ocean. The morgue had a fantastic view of the water, in fact, and was oddly located on the fourteenth floor in an area Aizawa called the _Riean Shitsu_, decorated in blue, white and gray-painted flowing architecture with tasteful silver trim.

The corpse clashed terribly.

The body had spent three years decomposing in the earth and was rotted and garish against the pristine slab it was laid upon. An older man entered the room shortly after they did and bowed in greeting. Aizawa bowed lower out of respect and Halle matched it.

"I am Dr. Hiroshi Mikitsu," the anthropologist introduced himself, handing Aizawa a file which he in turn handed to Halle. Dr. Mikitsu looked from Aizawa to Halle with grave dark eyes as Halle tucked the file under her arm. When she nodded, he continued. "Because of the state of putrefaction, it took me some time to diagnose the cause of death, his age and blood type." He then explained that the body was a young white male, age twenty-one at the time of death, blood type A, in relatively good health if not for the unfortunate aneurism...

"I'm sorry," Halle interrupted, wincing as her voice came out higher than she thought it would. "Aneurism?"

"Yes," Dr. Mikitsu answered, nodding severely. "The victim was shot multiple times after the burst blood vessel. There was no clotting, suggesting the victim had already been dead. I've estimated time of death to be some time during the end of December, 2009. The decomposition of the entry and exit wounds suggests that the victim was shot perhaps a week after he died."

Halle drew in a sharp breath and opened the file. "You said the victim was blood type A."

"Yes."

Matt was...is...blood type O. "What about his lungs?"

"His lungs?" Dr. Mikitsu looked confused. "The tissue of his lungs is mostly putrefied."

"I mean, can you tell if he was a cigarette smoker?"

"I found no evidence suggesting he inhaled cigarette smoke on a regular basis," the anthropologist replied.

Aizawa and Halle exchanged a long look.

The corpse was a John Doe. The body was not Matt's.

* * *

Captain Joe Starks was admitted into the RAF Commander's own office where no one greeted him but a tall, un-uniformed man in a business suit. Because there was no commanding officer present to tell him to do otherwise, Captain Starks stood at attention.

The man got straight to the point. "You're of the 70th Intelligence Wing, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why are you stationed in Menwith and not RAF Lakenheath?"

"I'll be going on leave shortly, sir. I was debriefing with the commander."

"And you are in command of the HH-60 Pave Hawk that went missing last week, are you not?"

"I am, sir."

The man began to circle him. "What happened?"

"The matter is being investigated by the MPC." Captain Starks paused. "Sir."

The man paused in front of the USAF captain. "Do you know who I am?"

"No, sir."

"You can call me Rester. I work for L."

Captain Starks blinked slowly and then looked at Rester full in the face. "Why is a detective interested in my bird?" The captain's demeanor had changed, become less rigid and more curious. A captain in the USAF 70th Intelligence Wing would certainly recognize the handle "L", so his reaction did not perturb Rester. Instead, Rester changed his tactic.

"The chopper that went missing from this base was seen taking something related to a case L was working on," Rester lied. It did not fool Captain Starks and they both knew it. However, they both also knew that even though Rester may not be enlisted, he still outranked Starks in intelligence, and therefore Rester had the upper hand. "I need to know everything you know."

Captain Starks' eyes bore into Rester's. "Everything I know has been documented. L would have already read the file, I'm sure. I apologize for not being more helpful."

Rester studied him for many minutes. At long last, he said: "I'm sure he will understand."

He was hiding something. Intelligence officers were notorious for that. Rester should know, he used to be one.

"If L should have more questions, I'll be happy to answer them," Starks responded.

"You're dismissed."

Starks did not salute him; it would have been strange if he had. When he reached the door Rester said: "Enjoy your leave."

Starks stiffened, a muscle worked in his jaw. One animal recognizes another; a man recognizes when he's being threatened too. At least they should, in their line of work. "I plan on it."

**To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Holy Land  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: Hmmm. Hmmmmmm. None reeeeeally—unless, of course, you count that little snippet about Mello and the Mafia.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi every one! I'm really, really sorry it took so long to get an update to you. I sort of left my boyfriend in California and drove across the country to Maryland by myself on a budget of 300 bucks right after I posted the last chapter. This weekend was the first time I felt inspired to write anything since. I'm well, in case you care, and am working things out. I'll see if I can get another chapter out before next week, because I'll be out of town for ten days before Thanksgiving for a painting gig. Yay for money!

Anyway, this chapter turned out somewhat different than was in my head. Some parts are quicker than the slower pace in my imagination; other scenes seem a lot slower on paper than the faster pace that was in my head. I like it, though. I despise the editing process, but for you dearies, I'll do it every time. I've been looking forward to writing this chapter and the two that follow since I began this fic, so I'm excited to know what you think about it. There are more notes at the end of the chapter. Thank you for reading and for all your reviews so far!

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Six

**Holy Land**

"_You say I am repeating_

_Something I had said before. I shall say it again._

_Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,_

_To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,_

_You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy._

_In order to arrive at what you do not know_

_You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance._

_In order to possess what you do not possess_

_You must go by the way of dispossession._

_In order to arrive at what you are not_

_You must go through the way in which you are not._

_And what you do not know is the only thing you know._

_And what you own is what you do not own._

_And where you are is where you are not."_

**~From the end of Part III, East Coker of the Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot**

June 11th, 2013

"I've always thought you were beautiful."

"Did you?"

Mello smiled ruefully, leaning his head back to better enjoy the soft breeze that had kicked up. It whispered softly around them, gently moving their hair in sweet caresses. "Well, yeah," he said. "I hated you for it. Remember?"

_You are not paying attention._

Near contorted in a spasm, and then sat up with a jolt.

"Whoa, whoa, alright killer; easy does it." Matt was reaching over the console with his right arm, pressing Near back into his seat as the detective choked and sputtered. He drove the jeep they were now occupying with his left. Near clutched tightly at Matt's wrist as he caught his bearings, sucking in one ragged breath after the other. The vehicle vibrated and bounced ungracefully over the uneven road. Near reached up to pull the oppressive woolen hood back, but stopped at the warning sound Matt uttered. "No good, man. These people see an albino walking around and we'll be sure to catch some unwanted attention."

"Its sweltering," Near hissed through parched lips, noticing that Matt was wearing a similar _balta_.

"Drink some water."

"How long was I unconscious?"

"Couple hours."

"Who were the men at the airstrip?"

Matt glanced at him sidelong. "Friends."

"Where do you find these friends of yours?"

"Internet."

Near made a short sound of disgust. "I don't know how you expect me to trust you."

"I don't expect that you will."

"Matt—"

"But don't worry," Matt said with a small smile. "I won't tell anyone you fainted."

Near felt the sudden urge to scream burst in his chest, but he pressed back on it until it was just mere frustration burning in his belly. He had passed out! Near was unaccustomed to embarrassment. He did not like it at all. He had never before become ill in-flight, and was just about to say so, when Matt said: "So, how long have they been haunting you?"

"Pardon?"

Matt glanced askance at him, the blue of his iris burning from the corner of his eye, until finally he looked back at the road. "Never mind."

Near hesitated, thinking of the hallucination he had had of L just before losing consciousness. It was unsettling, but that's just what it was—a hallucination. Near reached for the bottle of water waiting for him in the center console, took a sip, and settled back to gaze out the window.

Jerusalem was one of the oldest cities in the world, and could be dated as far back as the 4th millennium BCE. It had been beautiful many times, and ruins just as often. Strangely, Near found himself wishing he had come here when it had been beautiful.

It still had the gorgeous power of ancestry, and was very evident in certain quarters, but the past year of war had hit the Old City hard, and the new one, even harder. Israeli suburbs had been reduced to broken slums, with dreary-faced natives gazing suspiciously on as they waited for the next raid or the next guerillas attack. The city blocks of skyscrapers that had been impressive two years ago, was now little more than a steely war zone, offering sparse cover of metal and glass. A heavy film of smog and smoke clung to everything, also, making it seem that even though the skies were clear and blue, a dark cloud hung low over the Holy Land.

NATO troops patrolled every street within five miles of the American Embassy, and Matt was stopped several times for papers. They were admitted each time without incident, Near's companion speaking to the soldiers in craftily accented English. They continued south passed Mount Scopus and veered west towards Wadi Al-Joz, and finally, they entered the walled Old City. The East Jerusalem Arab Area surrounded the Old City like a thick nest, covering the fore and aft of the Pre-1967 Municipality Boundary. Today, Arabs from dozens of different nationalities wandered about, pressing against one another on the crowded streets. They only made it a few miles in before Matt was forced to pull over.

Matt turned off the ignition and checked the fastenings of his turban to make sure it covered the majority of his handsome face. When he finally turned to Near, who had mimicked Matt's movements and righted his _balta_, his eyes seemed flat and, when he spoke, his voice distracted. Matt also spoke in Icelandic; a language assuredly only the two of them would know. Wammy's House had trained them very, very well.

"We need to take this market road several blocks southwest, before making a left onto Christians Street, and then a right onto St. Helen Street." Matt waited for Near to nod before continuing. "We're not going through the main entrance to Sepulchre. It's too dangerous and too crowded. Keep your head low and your face covered—and keep the urn under your robe. Stay close and don't lose me; I'll be moving fast."

Near studied Matt's cornflower blue eyes for a long moment. "I don't believe in ghosts," he murmured.

Matt blinked several times, startled abruptly from his apathy. Finally, Matt breathed in deeply and glanced away. Near watched the fabric covering his mouth dent inwards, effected by the passage of air. "Maybe...you should."

Near's dark eyes caught and held Matt's gaze. "Why?"

Near watched something like fear rise to the surface in Matt's cornflower blue eyes. "Because—because I'm beginning to think they believe in you."

_Are you paying attention now?_

"Yes."

Matt gave him a strange look, but decided against saying anything else. In a flurry of motion, they were on the move—out of the jeep and walking quickly up the street. Near kept his fingertips trained on the inner-flesh of Matt's wrist to stay with him as they maneuvered through the crowd. Near couldn't see a thing, his hood was drawn so low. But he stayed with Matt and did not panic. The heat was oppressive.

They were on St Helen Street very soon, and Matt abruptly veered left, taking the two of them up a back alley, and then down another, and then another. Suddenly they stopped, and Near had to fight the urge to lookup, to expose his face. The urn felt heavy nestled in the hook of his left arm, and he shuffled it to his right. Then Matt was speaking to someone. Near's mind worked frantically to place the language. It was some jumbled mess of Farsi and Arabic slang. All he caught was the bare end of it: "...as we agreed."

"Yes," a man responded in the same dialect. His voice was young and a bit strained. "This way."

Near breathed in deeply and put his mind to work. In his mind's eye, he saw a map of Jerusalem. He followed the map and placed where they had pulled over—there, just outside the Jaffa Gate. David Street, Christians Street, St. Helen Street...and then a left, a right, two lefts, another right...

Ah. There.

They were moving again, Matt's fingers brushing over Near's when his had gone slack in deep thought. Twists and turns and the sound of a heavy key turning a lock.

Near's smile disappeared into his _balta_. Under very different circumstances, Near thought he would very much enjoy this man's company. Matt had contracted the aid of a son of Joudeh and a son of Nusseibeh. Clever.

Golgotha, or Calvary, or, indeed, Skull Rock, where Yeshua had been allegedly crucified, now resides in the veritable basement of the Holy Church of Sepulchre. This massive church is controlled and portioned off by a little over half a dozen separate sects. This is called the status quo. The status quo is divided into separate 'responsibilities' or custodial duties overseen by different religions. The foremost of these is the Greek Orthodox Church and the other primary custodians are the Eastern Orthodox, Armenian Apostolic, and Roman Catholic Churches. Lesser duties were eventually assigned to the Coptic Orthodox, the Ethiopian Orthodox and the Syriac Orthodox Churches.

However, one duty was never assigned to any Christian sect. Saladin, in 1192, had given the responsibility of the main entrance to two neighboring Muslim families. One he entrusted with the key, the other—the Nusseibeh, whose relationship with the Old City can be traced back to 637 Anno Domini—with the guarding of the entrance. These two families still continue this arrangement today. Near wondered what Matt had promised them for their aid.

They were ushered into estranged halls and down rocky tunnels so low they had to stoop to maneuver through. It was cooler here, even if a bit cramped. Near was happy to get away from the blistering sun and its heat. At last, they came to a stop.

"The ambulatory is on the other side of this wall," the Nusseibeh man said. "This door will open up on the Catholic side of Calvary. Be quick, custodians will come in to clean in ten minutes."

"Thank you," Matt responded.

"I will wait here."

Matt's fingers encircled Near's wrist and together they all but crawled to the end of the tunnel and pushed against the creaking, wooden door. Well, maybe not a door in the strictest sense. Indeed, Near found as Matt helped him through and his hood fell back, it was more like a hidden latch beneath a lavish rug. They had come up through the floor.

The actual rock was encased in glass, surrounded on all sides by three altars. Near undid Mello's urn and reached his hand inside, eyeing Matt as he did so. The renegade seemed unnaturally pale and unkempt, a stark contrast in this place of lush appointments, the holiest of holies, of worship and greed and grief. Matt was doing his best not to touch anything.

Near grabbed a handful of ashes and reached over the Rock of Calvary, letting the ashes slip through his fingers. It made a mess; clouds of dingy gray against gorgeous reds and golds, the smell of must against frankincense and myrrh. Near felt a measure of satisfaction well up inside of him. Maybe Mello wasn't so complicated. He understood the compulsion to mar something beautiful, to disturb the quiet grace of ignorance. Perhaps this was why Mello had sent him here. Near felt he understood Mello better, if only just a little, if only for a spare moment. It was gone as quickly as it had come.

They heard a tapping beneath them. The Nusseibeh lad was warning them to watch their time. Near refastened the lid to Mello's urn and tucked it safely underneath his _balta_. Then he pulled the hood back over his eyes and took Matt's hand. Near squeezed it a little. After a moment, Matt squeezed back. "I'm okay," Matt whispered.

Near didn't believe him, but he nodded anyway. "Alright, let's go."

The son of Nusseibeh led them back to the alley unscathed. After a short exchange, Matt thanked the young man again, and they made their way quickly back to the car. Matt sat at the wheel for a moment staring at his hands, but when Near moved to ask if he was alright, the hacker started the engine and pulled out onto the street. After some deliberation, Matt was able to get the vehicle turned around and headed north, toward Damascus Gate.

Recognizing the northern Old City gate, Near turned to Matt and inquired: "Garden Tomb?"

"Yeah," Matt answered without looking at him. "Just in case."

Near nodded. There were some claims that Garden Tomb was the actual location for Skull Rock as it had been used as a site for burial since the Byzantine period.

"Matt."

"Hm?"

"Something is bothering you." It was not a question.

Matt did not answer until they had found a new place to park. "I'm—um—no stranger to the panic attacks." Matt turned off the ignition and lit a cigarette. His arm shook, causing the flame to dance wildly around the smoke clenched between Matt's teeth. "I used to get them all the time when I was a kid. Remember?"

"No." Near gave him a blank look. "I do remember that you were particularly averse to going outside—given, of course, you are who you say you are."

Matt sent him an annoyed look. "Hm. Well—it gets better. You know, the panic." Matt cleared his throat and checked his rear view mirror. "You learn how to tune everything else out. Except for the parts that keep you from walking in front of a bus." Matt's lips twisted as if he'd made some personal, sardonic joke. "You get so used to tuning it out that—that when something's off, or not right, you sense it."

Matt met Near's unblinking gaze. "Is something not right?" Near asked in a flat voice.

They stared at one another for a long minute before Matt wrenched his eyes away. "Let's just say I'll feel a lot better once we're back on that plane."

Near followed a whim and asked: "Why did you get them?" The panic attacks. Matt knew what he meant.

Near saw Matt stiffen and grow even paler. Matt opened his mouth to answer, his eyes staring off into some memory Near could not fathom. But then Matt shook himself and stepped out of the jeep. Near did the same.

Matt seemed agitated as they made their way up the rock face, his eyes darting about and staring into the eyes of everyone they passed, memorizing their features, categorizing their turbans and shawls. The top of the hill had only one other visitor, and strangely enough, he seemed to be a Jewish Rabbi. Near murmured a respectful greeting to the elderly man in Hebrew and the man smiled kindly back at him, nodding. Near unfastened the urn and removed a handful of ashes. A soft breeze whispered through his hair and moved sweetly along his skin as he spread the ashes. Near's eyes slid closed and how long he stood there, enjoying that beautifully calm sensation he'd felt in L's graveyard in Japan, he wasn't sure.

Suddenly, next to him, Matt inhaled sharply and grasped his arm, roughly flinging Near behind him as a gunshot shattered the stillness of the air. And then everything went mad.

Near found himself being thrown into the elderly Rabbi and together they toppled to the ground. Another shot fired, causing rock and dirt to explode inches from Near's head. Matt was screaming for him to stay down as he removed a pistol from his waistband and returned fire. Near twisted from his crouch on the ground to see where Matt was aiming. Three men were running up the ramp to the west of them, their features obscured by the black turbans and shawls covering their dark, bearded faces. They wore dark, camouflage trousers, long white shirts stitched up the sides, and camouflage jackets. They were armed with rifles.

Behind him, two more were scrambling up the rock face. Matt shouted his name and Near felt the air near his face crack. He flung himself sideways, grasping the arm of the Rabbi and pulling him with him as Matt shot three rounds at the perpetrators climbing up the rock face. One went down immediately; the other shouted angrily in Lebanese and then went tumbling down after his comrade when Matt sent a bullet into his left shoulder. The three coming up the ramp were screaming indiscernibly and concentrating their firepower on Matt who was a blur of motion, dodging and rolling and cursing as he ran out of bullets.

Wammy's House had drilled them relentlessly when they were children. Drilled them on their studies, current politics, forensic science, history—and yes, even self-defense. They were taught an endless stream of martial arts from Capoeira to Tae Kwon Do and back again. They were trained to use all manner of firearms and explosives, they were taught tumbling and acrobatic techniques. Even Near, who hated every minute of it, had been no exception to these lessons—though it was always assumed he would necessitate personal security should he inherit L's title. Near remembered Mello had been very interested in weaponry and that his counterpart had shared some liking to missile logistics and war games. As Near watched Matt move, using his body like a human shield as he rushed toward them, adding another clip to a pistol Near had no idea the hacker was carrying, the detective realized that if this man was really Matt, then it was very possible that Wammy's had been training him for in-field intel from the very beginning. Near knew that Matt hadn't always been with Mello. In fact, he remembered that often Mello would be in a sour mood when the young hacker would turn up missing for hours at a time. Then, Near had thought nothing of it. Frankly, he just didn't care. But now Near thought perhaps Matt had been receiving private lessons. After all, Matt had been able to best both Halle and Rester at the orphanage with a bum arm and no weapon. And Near knew from experience that Halle and Rester were both very, very capable. Also, Near had always thought it strange that Mello would turn to Matt when his Mafia had crumbled to nothing during the last days of Kira. What could Matt possibly have had that the Mafia didn't?

"Near!"

Near twisted from his hunched position beside the quivering Rabbi.

"Do you remember how to get to the jeep?" He spoke in Icelandic and Near answered in kind.

"I am not inclined to leaving you here," Near stated, his clear voice carrying over the raucous. The three remaining attackers were crouched behind a nearby boulder, reloading their rifles and shouting to one another.

Matt closed the distance between them and grasped Near by his collar, bringing their noses a mere inch apart. "I don't give a flying fuck what you're inclined to do Near," he hissed, his blue eyes blazing. "You protect that urn and you get the fuck back to the car."

A weird sort of ache clenched Near's chest at his words. Near knew it was foolish, but he had almost believed that Matt was trying to protect _him_. But no. No. Matt was concerned only about the blasted, goddamned urn.

Near opened his mouth to protest again, but Matt had already turned away, crouched low and moving behind a small boulder for cover. Matt made a series of small hand gestures to Near the detective surmised was some sort of code for 'get going' and then began firing his weapon in the direction of their attackers. Near grabbed the Rabbi's sleeve and tugged him along as they retreated, staying low and near-silent. Beside him, the Rabbi was chanting a prayer of safekeeping in Hebrew. They turned a corner and Near lost sight of Matt. His heart hammered loudly in his ears and his breath began coming in short gasps. His feet felt like lead as they descended the rock face, the gravel treacherous and loose. Over the noise of his own sudden internal panic, he heard Matt shout in pain.

Before Near registered his own movements, he shoved Mello's precious urn into the arms of the Rabbi and turned on his heel, scrambling back up the path. Near dashed around the corner, his _balta_ flying around his ankles. The first thing he saw was two more bodies littering the ground, the next was Matt engaged in hand to hand combat with the sole surviving terrorist. This man was massive, broad-shouldered and quick. He danced around Matt and jabbed cruelly at the hacker's weak arm, causing him to stumble and back into a boulder. There was a flash, sunlight glinting off of the blade the attacker produced, but Matt lunged forward and dove for a nearby rifle. The blade caught Matt in his good arm, but he managed to get his left hand around the weapon. Matt swept his legs around, causing the attacker to stumble backwards. Matt shoved the butt of the rifle into the man's abdomen and the attacker fell to his knees. The firearm twirled in Matt's hand; he cocked it and took aim, his features a ruthless, stony mask.

But Matt hesitated. He glanced up and saw Near standing there. They locked eyes.

It was all the attacker needed.

Suddenly Matt doubled over, shouting in pain. He staggered sideways, clutching the hilt of the dagger protruding from his side. The attacker shoved him back, kicking Matt in the chest as he went down. Then he kicked him in the face, in the stomach—and then two shots fired and the man collapsed.

Near shakily pointed the pistol he'd picked up to his left, then his right, and then dropped it altogether, rushing over to Matt. There was blood pooling on the ground where the hacker was laying. Near fell to his knees and grasped Matt's shoulders, the sound of his speeding heartbeat crashing in his ears. Near shook him.

"Matt! Matt!!"

Matt cringed and moaned in pain, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Near grabbed Matt's arm and flung it around his shoulders. Straining and breathing heavily, Near managed to stand. Somewhere to the south, sirens were whining and people were shouting. He made it about five steps before he stumbled. Abruptly, his load became lighter. It was the old Rabbi. The old man's eyes were wide, but his face was set and his voice stern when he said in Hebrew: "There will be more. You must come with me. Quickly now. Come."

* * *

~*~

Paris.

Halle's second home. She loved it here. When she was a student, she took up studying French as a mere elective. Eventually, it had captured a secret, romantic part of her soul. She spoke the language fluently and even owned a small cottage outside the capital. She used to stay there for weeks at a time whenever the CIA let her have leave. And then she signed on with Near. Halle had not been back since.

For all that she adored and respected Near, he was a hard boss to work for at times. He was cold and calculating, snubbed affection and mocked camaraderie whenever she and Rester seemed a touch too chipper. But, he was fair, in his own way.

Near often gave them time off. Mostly, Halle felt it was because the young detective simply tired of their company—even if Near had always seemed slightly more comfortable with Rester than with her. Even so, Halle would always maintain her firm belief that Near was just lonely, and bitter because of it, even if he didn't know that. And neither Halle nor Rester liked leaving Near on his own for very long. So when Near did allot them vacation time, they both often chose to stay close by and always returned earlier than scheduled.

Well and so, Halle missed her summer cottage in France—and the delicious taste of Parisian croquet monsieur in the city. Paris had always had a wonderfully calming effect on her—one that she certainly needed today. This is why she chose Paris for her rendezvous with Rester.

She smiled from her seat in the back of the dimly lit La Mère Lachaise, a beautiful café close to the Père Lachaise cemetery, as Rester walked through the door. He stood awkwardly in the entrance, a full head taller than anyone else there. Then he spotter her and made his way through the café. Their table was in the back corner, facing all three exits and just behind the bar. Old habits die hard.

Rester took a seat beside her so they both could watch the exits and took off his hat. "I hate the French."

Halle's laugh was a little strained—a pale echo of what it usually was, but it was a laugh nevertheless. The corner of Rester's mouth lifted a bit. He ordered a martini with extra olives from the server who approached them and then turned to face Halle.

Halle took a large swallow of her wine. She did not mince words. "The body is a John Doe."

"_What?_" Rester's face went tight and shuttered. "Where's the kid's body, then? Why would somebody switch bodies?" Halle gave him a long look. "You don't think anyone switched bodies. Halle, you think—"

"I don't know what to think," she interrupted. "I just know that was the body I saw three years ago and a new, unbiased doctor is telling me it's not Matt."

"Who was the doctor who did the first autopsy?"

"I was thinking the same thing. I looked it up and the woman was going by the name Kimiko Kujo. I can't find her."

Rester was quiet for a moment, accepting his martini and chewing thoughtfully on an olive. "Do you think Matt was in league with her?"

Halle took another long swig of her wine. "You know, Rester? I really don't know anything about Matt. That's really hard to say. All I remember was that this kid was like Mello's shadow and really didn't seem to like being there."

"Skittish?"

"No. More annoyed. Anyone could look calm next to Mello, but that Matt took the cake. He just seemed really, really _bored_."

Rester grunted and sipped his martini. "Near never really spoke of him."

"Well." Halle set down her wine glass and crossed her arms, frowning angrily into the distance. "He seemed to trust the little prick enough to go walking off with him. What's the deal with the chopper?"

"Met the guy who flew it."

Halle raised a brow at him. "You sure?"

"I know it in my gut," Rester said quietly. "It's him. I didn't press because I didn't get the feeling he knew what his package was."

Halle looked at Rester for a long time. "Oh," she said finally. Halle uncrossed and then re-crossed them. "Well...that's not exactly _good_ news, now is it?"

Rester shook his head. It meant that Matt somehow had enough influence in the armed forces to use their machines on a whim. That tended to point down ghost trails that Halle and Rester had been pros at leaving when they worked for the government. They would never find Matt and Near this way.

Rester took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, I guess we follow your lead."

Halle nodded. "Kimiko Kujo."

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**A/N: **I didn't want to crowd the chapter with a bunch of numbers, so I hope you'll be able to follow this anyway.

A _balta _is a type of Middle Eastern dress. It is long and tends to fasten in the front. They do not always have hoods and some aren't even worn with shawls or turbans. Often, you would find a woman wearing a _balta_ because it is so concealing. For all intents and purposes, I had our boys wearing them as semi-disguises for this chapter.

The status quo is factual. In fact, there have been dozens of accounts of brawls breaking out over this person setting their chair in a way on the roof where another sect deems it disrespectful and chaos ensues. They take the status quo very seriously in Sepulchre. It humored me to have Near make a mess of Calvary with the ashes. I wonder who would be blamed.

Also, the two Muslim families that Saladin entrusted with the safekeeping of the front entrance of Sepulchre is also factual. They do, in fact, still carry out their duties to this very day at sunrise and sunset. I do not know, however, whether the Nusseibeh would have access to secret tunnels of Sepulchre. That is creative license.

Croquet monsieur is a food.

La Mère Lachaise is an actual café in France. I've never been, but it sounds quite marvelous.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Bullet Wounds  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: Matt's real name is mentioned again. Also, some more events from the final episodes are described in detail, and others are merely referred to. A character from one of the movies is mentioned. Doumi realized it from the last chapter. It's a little scary, actually, that no detail ever escapes her. (Ha ha.)

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hello Readers! I hope you all had a rockin' Thanksgiving. I know I said I would try to get this out before the holiday—and I did try—but, you know, life happens. This took me about two weeks to write. Not so much because it's exceptionally long, but more because I kept going back and adding to it. I had a lot of fun with this chapter. The last one was tedious because of the amount of research I had to do, but for this one, all I really had to work on was keeping it feeling organic.

I veered away from my original outline when it came to the Rabbi's character. I had this whole thing mapped out where Near and Yisheth were going to have this strange relationship, where the Rabbi would refer to Near as "White Angel" and they took him and Matt in because it is Jewish custom to be hospitable to those in need. However, while the Jewish custom is certainly not cheesy, the whole "White Angel" thing is. I decided it felt more real, and by extension, more interesting, to bring back the Nusseibeh man, and to encourage the idea that the world and its problems is so much bigger than Near and Matt and Mello. And that these people, in this time of war, didn't give half a rat's shit about who Near was or how smart he is. That and the different notions of friendship were fun things to play with. I hope you like it.

Thank you so much for reading. I had a blast writing this one.

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Seven

**Bullet Wounds**

"_Purpose is plain._

_Endurance of friendship does not depend_

_Upon ourselves, but upon circumstance._

_But circumstance is not undetermined._

_Unreal friendship may turn real _

_But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended._

_Sooner shall enmity turn to alliance._

_The enmity that never knew friendship_

_Can sooner know accord."_

**~From "Murder in the Cathedral" by T.S. Eliot**

June 11th, 2013

(That evening.)

Everything happened very, very quickly. Matt's side was gushing blood, and once they had piled his unconscious body into the Rabbi's car, Near took off his _balta_ and pressed it into the wound, careful not burrow the dagger in deeper—but also fearful of taking it out. Near climbed into the backseat with Matt, pulling his deadweight into his lap and trying to staunch the flow of blood as the Rabbi pulled the car out onto the street. The ride was eventless and could have taken hours or minutes for all Near was paying attention. Near saw the blood; indeed, he was covered in it. He saw Matt's face grow paler, his pulse become weaker, and his limbs colder. He heard the sirens and the shouting. He felt the hammer of his own frantic heartbeat. And through the surreal, through the veil and fog of this nightmare, Near's only glaring thought was that Matt was going to die. He was going to die again. And he was going to die again because he had been trying to save _him_.

Yes, true, Matt's focus was the urn—and it was a happy accident that Near was in charge of its well-being and therefore Near's well-being was important to the renegade hacker. But before—_before_...

They had alerted him. They had given their lives so that Near would _know_—so that he could take down Kira. Matt and Mello. Mello and Matt. Mello.

Mello was dead. Matt was dying. In his arms, in the backseat of this Rabbi's car, in a war zone, in the desert—because of _ashes_. Because of Mello' stupid fucking will. Because of Mello's stupid fucking ghost. Near wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. He wanted to scream and be angry. He wanted to be defiant. But all Near could do was stare in shock and horror as Matt's blood seeped through his fingers and soaked his shirt.

_I've left something for you. For safekeeping. You will keep it safe, won't you?_

"Yes," Near murmured hoarsely. He'd promised.

The car stopped suddenly—or Near abruptly realized the car had stopped. Either way, the car was no longer moving and many pairs of hands were gripping him, grasping Matt, hauling and pulling and above the hands were voices speaking rapidly to one another in Hebrew.

"—attacked by Garden Tomb—"

"—Heifa! Fetch the surgeon!"

"Yisheth! Why did you bring them here?! The Hezbollah will come!"

"Oh negative," Near stated hollowly as he was hauled to his feet. The evening sun seared into his eyes and he blinked rapidly against the pain. His face was burning where it was exposed to the light. He swayed. "Oh negative."

"Shh! Say again, boy?"

"Oh negative. He's losing blood. The surgeon will come here?" Near was guided into a low roofed house. Ahead of him, three men were carrying Matt's body into a back room.

"Yes." Beside him, Yisheth, the Rabbi, touched a small scroll mounted to the doorframe and entered. In a low voice, Yisheth grabbed the arm of a young girl, one of his daughters, Near presumed, and instructed her to have the doctor bring blood from the bank. Oh negative.

Near made his way into the back room. It was a sterile room with steel accommodations and cabinets filled to the brim with medications and swabs, gauze and splints and surgical knives. They must bring injured fighters here, during battles. To operate on them. Near surmised there could be thousands of houses like this, turned into a make-shift hospice during war-time. Near was grateful. He stored the feeling away for later inspection.

Near busied himself with fetching a bowl of water and a rag. He instructed one of the men who had carried Matt in there to keep pressure on the wound. Near did his best to wipe as much blood away from Matt's face and hands that he could—but soon the water became murky and the operation seemed useless. Near dropped the rag into the bowl with a thud and a splash. He lifted his hand and rested his fingers on Matt's brow, despair and emptiness welling up inside of him as the precious seconds ticked by and still, the surgeon did not show. He pushed back Matt's hair from his face, locks that were as dark and as red as the blood pouring from his side. He was so pale, blue around the edges. Near moved the hair to one side—and frowned. There, by the left temple, was a long, jagged scar.

In a rush, a tall, slender-fingered man swept into the back room, barking instructions. He laid his brief case on a nearby stool and ordered everyone from the room save Heifa and Yisheth. When Near did not move, the man made a small gesture with one hand and Near found himself being bodily dragged from the room. He was thrown onto a low sofa with plain appointments, but Near was on his feet immediately, shouting something he could not recall later.

"If your friend can be saved, Dr. Ali Mehkim will save him," a voice murmured from a dark corner. The man's voice was low and soft, but it stopped Near in his tracks nevertheless. He had heard it before. Near whirled, breathing: "Nusseibeh!"

The man nodded, his knotted turban dipping as he did. "_Assalamu alaikum._"

Near stared rudely at him for a moment, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He had been correct about the Nusseibeh man being young, the Gatekeeper who had aided Matt and Near into the Selpuchre only a few hours ago. He was perhaps mid-twenties, with a beard that was barely full and black, solemn eyes that glittered in the darkness. Matt's ally. Part of Matt's network. In the Rabbi's home. Either news traveled especially fast in this town and they were in far more trouble than Near would know what to do with—or this man had set Yisheth on that rock specifically to keep an eye on them. Which meant he gave a damn about Matt's well-being. Which meant he either hadn't been paid yet...or there was an actual _friendship_ there. Eventually, Near answered: "_Wa alaikum assalam wa rahmatu Allah._" It was only proper, after all.

The Nusseibeh man nodded again, this time out of approval—and maybe even respect. Near's thoughts turned inward after that and he sank to the floor, crouching in on himself and reaching for a lock of hair to twine around his finger. He procured the Jack of Hearts from his blood-soaked shirt pocket and set it on the floor. He ignored the other men in the room, who had fallen silent at Near's strange behavior, he ignored the women bustling to and from the back room, carrying pitchers of hot water and muttering to themselves, he ignored Matt's moans of pain and the Nusseibeh's intense stare prickling on the back of his neck, and he ignored time. He ignored its passage and its toll on his aching joints as it slipped by and vanished into the void. He stared at the Jack, the red smeared across its face. And he twirled his hair.

~*~

* * *

The fighting began around three in the morning.

It began as a faint, unassuming sound of irregular popping, echoing strangely in the dead night air. Near remained crouched over the Jack of Hearts, head bent in his vigil as he listened to the strange sounds cracking through the otherwise still night. Yisheth and Heifa were still with the surgeon in the back room, working on Matt, but other members of the household materialized into the hall, moving quietly about, lighting candles and barring the door. Their movements were robotic and slow with fatigue, and Near thought that this chore of closing down the house had become a sort of regular drill for them. The sounds of gunfire drew closer as the Nusseibeh and another man procured automatic rifles and took up a post by the front door. Occasionally, the house shook and yellow dust shivered from the beams above them. After the second time, Near glanced up to where Mello's urn teetered on a narrow table, rocking back and forth as the foundation rumbled. Near rose silently and walked quietly over to the table, stiff joints cracking as he did so. He picked up the urn and set it under the table. Then he returned to the middle of the floor and curled in on himself, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip as he pondered the Jack of Hearts.

Near's mind was filled with visions, memories from the past. He relived, over and over, the feed from the security cameras that showed Matt being shot down by the Kira supporters in Japan. He had exited his car in surrender, cool and overconfident. Even through the black and white fuzz of the camera feed, Near had been able to see the smirk on Matt's face, the tell-tale twist of his lips that spoke only of how much more he felt he knew than them. Even then, Near believed that Matt had some secret. Did Matt care so little about the world that he could walk smiling into the waiting arms of death? Or did he know something that his killers had not?

He'd been shot multiple times by the Kira fanatics, the bodyguards of Takada, and the police force. He'd stumbled back, teetered dangerously when a bullet had grazed his temple, and only then did he collapse. Near remembered what Matt had been wearing. During those days, Matt still had an affinity for long-sleeved striped shirts. That night he'd worn a thick vest to ward him from the cold. Stylish and bulky, the vest had a neck that covered nearly half of Matt's face. When they were done with him, the soft deerskin vest had been ruddy with blood, so soaked that it had instantly put out the cigarette that fell from the hacker's mouth. He watched the feed in his mind, able to recall every detail, every angle.

L had never spoken to him. The great detective had never given him instructions or left him advice or deemed it necessary to aid Near's succession in any way. At the time, Near had thought nothing of it. Mello had loved L, and so too, in his own way, Near thought that Matt had as well. However, there had never been any affection between him and the esteemed, reclusive detective. Near never felt the need for L's acknowledgment. In a way, being the chosen successor was enough acknowledgment. But Near did not feel that was the type of relationship he shared with L. If he shared one with him at all.

Near had taken up the mantle of L with dutiful indifference, handling the Kira case where L had failed and continuing on with other cases after that one was sufficiently closed. Near understood that he had proved himself with the finale of the Kira case, but he also felt that he hadn't quite made his mark yet. L had worked very hard for his prestige. The War of the Three, the battle between L and two other great minds for the top had been a great chapter in L's legacy. There, Near felt, was where L had made _his_ mark. However, Near was so introverted that he did not feel the necessity to be so flashy or objective. He fulfilled his duties and wished only to be left alone. Near wondered now if it was not enough.

L did not like people. He did not enjoy struggling to communicate with them. Near knew this because he did not like it much either. Yet, L had been willing to go out among them to solve a case—and sometimes for his own pleasure, as with the Tennis Tournament. Why? Had L understood something about people that Near had not yet grasped? Near felt different being among strangers, out in situations he did not have full control over. His emotions seemed to rise and fall with growing strength, feeling to come out of him instead of _at_ him from a different source. He reacted to expressions. Before he cared little for them and rarely looked at a person's face. And he found himself caring a great deal about the welfare of the man who called himself Matt, despite his aversion to Near's predispositions. Near had been willing to endanger himself to save this man. Near had killed for him. Was there a secret here that L knew? That he had discovered for himself? That Near was discovering now?

Was there a hidden clue in the feed from those camera images, something he had missed before? Something he had overlooked?

Did Matt kill those men in Japan? If not, were those murders some sort of warning?

Dawn light was just beginning to trickle through the cracks in the boarded windows when Yisheth emerged from the back room. Near raised his head and blinked questioningly up at the exhausted Rabbi. But Yisheth merely turned and retreated to another part of the house. Heifa came after, rubbing at the blood on his forearms with a towel. When he didn't meet Near's gaze either, the detective felt fear lance his heart. He watched the second man's retreating back as a coldness seeped into him, his mouth working over words that would not take form. Finally, the surgeon came through the doorway, running a hand tiredly over his eyes. Behind Near, the Nusseibeh man straightened.

"He lives," Dr. Ali Mehkim murmured in Arabic. "The knife missed his liver." The doctor glanced behind him and then looked over at the Nusseibeh. "He will be conscious for only a few more minutes. I have given him an opiate for the pain."

Near rose to his feet, trying but failing to formulate a response. He was relieved, so much so that he felt weak. Near struggled to separate himself from this feeling that abruptly overwhelmed him. It was not as easy to push this feeling down, to set it aside for later review. He wanted to know when Matt would be well again. How long it would be before they could leave. The Nusseibeh man brushed past Near, heading for the back room. A jolt of savage anger shook Near and his hand shot out, grabbing the Arab's arm. Before Near could speak, the Nusseibeh said: "I have business here, friend."

"Your business can wait," Near grated in a flat voice, his black eyes flashing dangerously under his fringe of white hair.

"You are a weak man in a formidable land," the Nusseibeh man said, shaking off Near's grip. "Do you think your story is the only one to tell? That your life is the only one that matters here?" The Nusseibeh gestured around him, the gesture meant to encompass the whole of the Holy Land, symbolized by the Arabs and Jews living together in the same safe house. "I think that I would know better whose business is more important in a place such as this, in times such as this." The man slipped into the back room and shut the door. Near let him go without further protest. He was just as stunned with his reaction as he was with the man's response. Near turned to the doctor, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

"He has lost a lot of blood," the doctor continued after a moment in a quiet voice. "He suffers from a swelling of the brain. I do not think it will kill him, but he will sleep for many long hours until the swelling recedes." The surgeon met Near's eyes briefly and then glanced away. "All things considered, I think your friend has seen much worse and lived. His body will heal."

"Is he in a lot of pain?" Near finally managed.

Dr. Ali Mehkim smiled sympathetically at him. The gesture surprised Near, who did not expect it. "The worst of it is over," he said gently.

To that, Near disagreed. They had only covered two of the places on Mello's list. They weren't even half way done. The doctor excused himself and retired, leaving Near alone with his thoughts and the armed guard at the door. Twenty minutes later, the Nusseibeh man emerged from the back room, regarding Near solemnly with a grim set to his bearded chin. "I am sorry, friend, but now he sleeps."

Near glared openly at him from his crouch on the floor until the Nusseibeh stepped away from the back room. Only then did he rise to enter.

Matt was laid out on the table in the center of the room, a long white sheet covering his body. Plastic tubes from an IV and machines dripped fluid and blood back into his veins and monitored his vitals. Near was relieved to see they were stable. He did not like, however, how pale he still seemed, despite the garish bruising that swelled his face and throat, where the assailant had kicked him. Matt breathed evenly, despite it all, his chest rising and falling beneath the sheet. Near approached the table and reached out to touch him, but his hand fell away as he lost his nerve. It seemed improper to touch Matt when he wasn't aware to receive it. And it didn't seem necessary now that Near knew he would be fine.

Near walked around the table, to the machines on the other side. He gazed at the jagged peaks of Matt's heartbeat and the numbers that gauged his breathing and blood pressure. He wondered, briefly, why he was in here at all. It did not seem to make a difference one way or another, Near being in this room with him. Matt could not speak to him, and Matt would not hear him if Near spoke. Near smiled wryly to himself when he realized they did not speak to each other much even when they were both conscious. Which was just as well. Perhaps Near just liked being close to him. Knowing, instead of just being told by a stranger, that he was okay. Near wondered if this meant they were friends.

Near turned back and gazed down at Matt's sleeping face, the stark sweep of his lashes against his swollen cheekbones, the fringe of his dark auburn hair. Near's dark eyes found the jagged scar again, the one by his left temple. He reached out and traced it with one finger. The camera feed flashed into his mind again and his hand froze. Suddenly, Near grasped the sheet and threw it back. Matt was naked underneath, but Near was unperturbed. His eyes sought and found what he was looking for. And they were everywhere. Three in his right thigh, one in his left calf, two in his right arm and four in his left. That was why his arm shook. That was why he always wore long sleeves and only changed clothes when Near could not see.

Bullet wounds.

Deep, indented scars all over his arms and legs and even one in his shoulder, but this one only a graze where the muscle met the triceps. But none on his chest. Near reached out and pushed up Matt's side to inspect his back. Matt's arms flopped carelessly as Near saw that his back was also unscathed. Near returned him to his former position and rearranged his limbs, returning the sheet to modestly cover his body. Near closed his eyes as another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Matt had been wearing a vest. A bullet proof vest. Well, of course he had, hadn't he? Matt was no idiot. He would have known those men would have been armed. Near's eyes snapped open. But Mello hadn't known. Mello had thought Matt had died. And there had been bloodstains on the vest. Near had watched them appear on the feed. Mello had not known about the vest. Matt had made his death very public. Matt had—

Matt had faked it. He'd been injured in his limbs, but Matt had made sure his vital organs would be safe. Flashy, objective—but what objective?

What had he been hiding from Mello? Why would he let Mello think he was dead?

"What were you running from?" Near whispered down to Matt's sleeping form. Kira? No. That made no sense. Kira had no knowledge of Matt at all. Kira was aware of Mello, but never Matt. "Secrets..."

Secrets kept from Near, from Mello, from everyone...but kept from L? Matt had been his first choice, after all. He had been trained in ways that had excluded Mello and Near. What was he involved in? Had he been trying to protect Mello? Matt had not aided Mello until Mello had come to Japan. Matt had not been with Mello when he was running the Mafia. Near knew that was significant, but could not understand why.

_"I'm quite comfortable with everyone thinking I'm dead, believe me."_

Who lent him the jet? How was he connected to the Nusseibeh?

"Web of lies," Mello breathed next his ear.

"Yes."

"Everyone has secrets," Mello whispered, his breath hot on his neck.

"I don't have secrets."

"Yes, you do." Mello lowered his head, allowing his blond lashes to trail his skin, causing gooseflesh and shivers. Mello smiled wickedly. "Your whole existence is a secret."

"Is it not something he's hiding then? That it's just him that's the secret?"

"We're not talking about him," Mello murmured, his lips pressed behind his ear.

"I am."

"I'm not."

He sighed, annoyed. "Why do you haunt me, Mello?"

"Nonsense."

"Nonsense?"

"Nonsense." Mello pulled away a little, letting him feel the absence of it, relishing at how he stepped back into him. "The dead can only haunt the living."

"I don't understand."

"When have you ever been alive?" Mello whispered.

He did not answer.

"You see my point then," Mello murmured, and withdrew.

The door slammed open and Near stormed into the hall. The Nusseibeh man was cleaning his rifle on the sofa when he came in. He raised his head and regarded the detective calmly, even as Near reached out and grabbed the rifle away from him.

"Who answers to whom?" Near demanded in Arabic, holding the automatic weapon away from the Gatekeeper. Behind him, alarmed members of Yisheth's household rose and approached warily. The Nusseibeh waved them back. "Answer me, Nusseibeh! Who do you work for? Why are you here, for him?"

The Nusseibeh man breathed in slowly and let it out in a sigh. "I know that I do not answer to _you_. And neither does he."

"That's not good enough." Near's voice was sharp, tilting dangerously in his anger.

"It will have to be, friend," he responded, his voice becoming less kind. "For I cannot in good faith tell you what he will not."

"Are you saying he doesn't trust me?" Near breathed, his anger boiling to the brink. He clutched the rifle so tightly, the metal contours of the weapon bit into his flesh.

The Nusseibeh considered his words before speaking. "I only observe and make judgments on what I perceive. Who are you to make these demands of me? To make them of anyone?"

For the first time since taking the mantle of L, Near wanted shout the words, to force another into submission by that one phrase that could silence an entire room. _I am L._ He had said them before, but only as a way to introduce himself through a speakerphone, to a person who could not see him and probably never would. This was different. Near knew that there would be a measure of seething satisfaction of surprising this man, startling him into answering his questions, humbling him. However, despite the gratification, Near knew that the consequences of this admission, this declaration, could be deadly. No one was to know he was L. Near already feared that those men on the hill had known. That somehow, it had gotten out, and they were sent to kill him. It was something he did not like to think on.

Near said instead: "I am Mello."

The Nusseibeh man looked curiously at him for a long moment, before pulling his eyes away to regard the urn in the far corner of the room. Near stiffened, thinking he may have made a mistake. This man knew who Mello was. Near was certain of it when he brought his black eyes back to Near's face, a strange, soft smile curling into the man's beard. "I see." Those black eyes continued to roam Near's face, thoughtful and intelligent. Behind them, Heifa and the other man listened intently. Beyond them, Yisheth's daughters listened in the hall. Apparently, their conversation had become quite a spectacle. Eventually, the Nusseibeh's smile relaxed into a grin. "Well, friend, I am Akhish. Now we can speak together as civilized men, yes?"

Near glanced down at the rifle in his hands, feeling suddenly foolish. He handed the weapon back to Akhish who took it and set it next to him. Akhish beckoned Near closer with a crook of his brown finger. Near lowered his head, peering suspiciously at the Arab.

"If an enemy of my enemy is my friend, then so too must a friend of my friend be a friend as well," Akhish said to Near in a low voice only he could hear. "I cannot give you the answer you ask of me, but I will say it is not wise to use that name among friends of M."

Near blinked, startled. Is that what they called him here? M? "How many times has M been to the Holy Land?" Near whispered.

"Only this once," Akhish answered. "And he will probably do well not to return."

Near felt his confusion deepen and his irritation grow stronger. "And those men who attacked us?"

"Hezbollah," Akhish said. "They were sent for a detective. And they found you."

They stared at one another as the meaning of that truly sunk in. At last, Near turned slightly on his heel and lowered himself to a crouch on the floor so he could pick up the Jack of Hearts. With a sense of finality and commitment, and none too little foreboding, Near turned the card over and laid it face down on the floor. It was time to even the playing field. He brushed his fingers lightly over the back of the card and glanced up at the Nusseibeh Gatekeeper, his curling white hair falling heavily in his dark, piercing eyes. "Thank you, Akhish. Is there a phone in this establishment?"

"The line would not be secure."

"Friend," Near said, smiling a little at how strange the word felt in his mouth. "That was not my question."

~*~

* * *

In Near's office, on the third story of Wammy's Orphanage, Rester and Halle sat at their desks, sifting through paperwork. They had decided to keep on Near's cases to counteract the threat of anyone suspecting that L was not mandating his post. One of the many flat screens covering the walls flashed abruptly and Roger's face came on the feed. Rester leaned over his laptop and pressed a button.

"Yes?"

"There's a call from Switzerland," Roger said, his wrinkled face drawn in concern. "Line one."

Halle glanced up from the file she was currently bent over as Rester took the call and put it on speakerphone, switching on the mechanism that would distort his voice to the person on the other end. "This is L," Rester lied, his voice even.

"Well, that's just as well," said a female voice of one of their many contacts around the globe, her English heavily accented. "Because there's a call that just came in; a man claiming to be the same."

"From where?" Rester asked as Halle shot to her feet and crossed the room to hover over Rester's shoulder.

"I traced the call to Jerusalem," the woman answered, seeming cross and nervous simultaneously. She probably feared what would happen for wasting L's time.

Rester and Halle exchanged a quick glance. "Put it through."

"Are you sure—"

"Put it through."

The woman hesitated, then: "Please hold."

A series of beeps and shrills came over the speakerphone and then a dull click before Near's voice came on the line, monotone and flat. "Rester, Halle."

"We're here. Is it—is it really you?"

There was a pause and then a short, annoyed sigh. "Code in?"

Relief slammed into both of them and Rester, uncharacteristically flustered, said: "Yes, of course. Code in."

"N1225."

"Oh, God, Near!" Halle cried, lunging forward and turning off the distorter. "Christ, are you okay? Where are you? We'll come get you. Oh, God, I'm so sor—"

"Halle, shut up," Near snapped.

Subdued and a little hurt, Halle straightened. Rester put a comforting hand over hers and squeezed a little as Near spoke again, static crackling over his words.

"The man who abducted me from the mansion is Mail Jeevas. I have deduced that he faked his death in Japan but the reasons for this continue to elude me." Near paused as the static grew louder and then faded. "He has some intricate network he is connected to, and powerful friends."

"Who?" Rester inquired.

A moment passed before Near answered. "I should know soon enough." The static rose and fell again. "Listen carefully, I need you to keep an eye out for—" The static screamed, drowning out his words.

"Come again? Near?"

The static faded. "—albino murders in growing numbers."

"You believe the knowledge is out?" Halle asked. "That you're gone?"

"A group of Lebanese mercenaries attacked Matt and I," Near said, his voice cracking a little, and not from the static. "Matt is injured."

"Were they contracted to kill you?" Rester asked.

"If they were, specifically, that could mean trouble for the albino population," Near said, almost offhandedly.

"Near, I don't understand," Halle interjected. "Why don't you tell us where you are? We'll come and get you. You could make a statement; put the rumors to rest..."

"That's a very good idea," Near mused, seeming somewhat distracted. "A statement...Rester, do that if it becomes necessary."

"Near," Rester said, a strange, paternal warning in his voice. "Where are you?"

"If I do not contact you again in a month, assume that I am dead and consult Roger for a new L," Near said in an emotionless voice, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say.

"_What?_" Rester and Halle exploded simultaneously.

"If I do not return in a month—"

"Near," Rester said in a dark, scolding tone. "Tell us where you are. _We'll come get you._"

"No," Near said. "No, there are some things I need to do. Some things I need to discern. I will contact you when I am ready for an extraction."

"Near, you're talking crazy," Halle said, her voice tight with anger. "Anything you need to do, you can do with us. It's our job to protect to you. How can we protect you if you're not—"

"Halle, _shut up_."

"I will not! You need—"

"Then consider yourself relieved of your duties," Near said harshly. "You may clear out your desk. Rester—"

"Near, you little shit, listen to me." Halle was beside herself. "I went to Japan, and had the body re-examined with Aizawa. The mortician from three years ago lied to me. If you say that Matt faked his death, she was in on it, she helped him do it. She called herself Kimiko Kujo. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Near was quiet for a long time. At last he said: "Yes. It does." Another long pause. Then, "K."

Halle, breathing hard, managed, "So, this woman...she's from _here_?"

"Yes." The static rose and dulled. "Thank you for that information, Halle. You are re-hired."

Halle sent a long-suffering look Rester's way, who answered it silently with a knowing look. It was not the first time either one of them had been fired in a bout of impatience from Near.

"K is from A's generation. Please consult the archives and track her down in my absence. I will do my best to live to hear the results of your search." The static screamed briefly, and when it died down, Near resumed speaking. "I have made promises, Halle, Rester. Please attempt to understand that this is a thing I must do without you. I wish we could speak more, but time, as they say, is of the essence."

"No," Rester said, recognizing the tone in his employer's voice. "Near, wait—"

"Goodbye."

The connection ended, leaving an empty silence in its wake. Rester and Halle looked at one another for a long moment, dread filling the quiet between them. Then, Rester leaned over his desk and hung up the phone. "Let's get to work," he said.

~*~

* * *

The following day, close to dusk, a siren began wailing. It shrieked through the air, the eerie whine filling up the silence of Yisheth's near-vacant household. Near rose from his crouch on the floor, taking the Jack of Hearts with him, and approached Mello's urn. He took the urn and placed it into a nearby wicker basket, covering it with a straw lid. Near placed the Jack of Hearts atop the wicker basket and turned to face Yisheth and Heifa, who had come into the room armed with their rifles at the sound of the siren. They looked questioningly at the detective.

Akhish had spoken for many hours with the Rabbi before departing back to his father's house near Sepulchre. After a heated argument, Yisheth had finally agreed to allow Near and Matt to stay in his home until Matt was well enough to travel again. Yisheth had, however, deemed his home now unsafe for his wife and daughters, and had sent them to a relative's house in the Eastern Quarter. It was now only the four of them, Near, the Rabbi, Heifa and Matt—who was still unconscious and heavily medicated.

Near tugged the sleeves of his shirt down to cover his hands, steeling himself before he could meet the Rabbi's accusing stare. It was the deep red shirt Matt had given him in Japan. It no longer smelled of lavender. It smelled like Matt's blood. He finally looked up at the two men across the room as the ground shook as large, armored vehicles rumbled down the street. Yisheth had hardened in his demeanor towards Near after seeing Matt's body. Near could not fathom what Yisheth must think. Did he believe that that was what happened to a companion of him? Did he believe that Near had caused those scars? Inadvertently, Near could have. But Near knew now that there was more to the shooting than just warning Near, back during the last few days of Kira's reign of terror and death. And besides, guilt was not a language Near fully understood anyway. Near met Yisheth's gaze unflinching.

"Is a there a hidden room," Near asked, "Where you two might hide?" Near had already covered the door to the back room with a tapestry, making it blend with the rest of the wall. Should the Hezbollah come for him, Matt would be safe.

Yisheth stared at him as the rumble drew closer, shaking the beams of the house and causing yellow dust to trickle down. The popping sounds of gunfire began, loud this time, so close.

"God be with you," Yisheth murmured, and meant it, despite his glare. He was a righteous man. Near liked him for it. It is a different kind of strength required of a man, to be holy in times of war. Yisheth touched Heifa's arm and they turned to go.

"And with you," Near whispered in Hebrew, watching Yisheth pause before the hallway. The Rabbi touched a scroll on the mantle and entered, leaving Near alone in the small room. Near never saw him again.

Moments later, they came like a scourge. They rammed the door and, shouting in Lebanese, swarmed in. Near stood in the middle of the room, watching with dark, indifferent eyes as the place exploded in a flurry of motion. Khaki pants and dark shirts, they wore mostly, some with camouflage garments, and most with bullet proof vests. All were armed to the teeth. Near was grasped roughly by a man who smelled like onions and rank. A sack was thrown over his head and he was shoved into another pair of hands. A violent blow came from nowhere. The last thing Near heard was harsh laughter.

~*~

* * *

Mello held the pigeon carefully in both hands, stroking the dull grey feathers with his thumbs. "Soft," he observed.

They sat on the roof. It had always been their favorite place. Quiet and peaceful, save for the cooing of the birds as they begged for bread crumbs.

It was different now, though. They were much older than they used to be. Mello had his scars, and he...well, he had his fair share of scars too.

Mello leaned forward, rocking precariously on the balls of his feet, his jagged blond hair sweeping forward as he let the bird go. In a flurry, the bird flapped its wings and took off. Mello rocked back and shook his hair away from his face. "I used think, with utter certainty, that karmic hell would be dying and coming back as a pigeon."

Startled, he laughed. "Why?"

Mello shrugged and tipped his face back, relishing the warmth of the sun. "They're dingy and ugly, rats with wings; too fat to fly anywhere important...they eat garbage..." Mello glanced sidelong at him, his mouth curling into a wry smile. "I know better now."

He frowned. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

"Why not? What's true is true."

"Still. I don't like it."

"That's very sweet of you."

"I'm not trying to be sweet."

"I know," Mello said, his smile taking a turn for the wicked. "That's what makes it so sweet."

He changed the subject. "Is there such thing as karmic hell?"

"No," Mello answered readily. He brought one fingernail up to his mouth and began chewing on it. "And yes." He moved his hand away from his mouth and regarded his bitten fingernail. "After all, I have to watch you and _him_."

"Does it make you angry?"

Mello shrugged. "Nah." He dropped his hand to his lap and stared out over the estate, stories below them and stretching on forever. "Not angry. I worry, that's all."

"About what?"

"Everything." Mello frowned. "Nothing. I don't worry." Mello turned suddenly, his green eyes blazing. "_He's gone_," he hissed.

"What?"

"Wake up," Mello demanded, his voice hard, urgent. "Immediately."

Matt's eyes snapped open and he jerked away from the cloth covering his nose and mouth. The cloth moved back and disappeared from view, replaced by Akhish's strained face.

"Akhish? Wha...?" Matt made to sit up, but pain and nausea attacked him from all sides. He fell back with a groan.

"Easy, friend. Easy." Akhish turned and spoke to someone else in a low voice. Matt covered his eyes with the back of one hand until, minutes later, someone pulled it back and pressed a cup of water into his palm. "Drink."

Matt propped himself on one elbow, wincing at the pain it caused him, breathing carefully at the dizziness that attacked him. "Where's Ne—where's the man I was with? With the white hair?"

"Drink first," Akhish said, turning to the other man in the room who handed him a needle filled with clear fluid.

Matt took a sip, eyeing the syringe warily. He didn't much like needles. "What is that?" His head pounded something fierce, the light hurt his eyes. "Where are my clothes?"

"Adrenaline," Akhish said, answering the first question but ignoring the other. "Your friend's been taken."

Matt froze, the cup half-way to his mouth. "Who?"

"Hezbollah. Last night, while I was away. I came as soon as it was safe."

Hezbollah. The blood drained from his face. Matt grabbed the syringe from the Nusseibeh and slid the needle into his flesh. "I need my things. Where's my pack?"

His backpack was tossed into his lap and Matt pushed his hand in and retrieved the bulky, black phone. His heart began to hammer in his chest. The adrenaline was working. He reached a second time into his pack and took out a stick of gum. He handed the gum to Akhish and kept the wrapper. Within moments, he was dialing Danny-boy.

"Danny-boy? It's M. I need another favor."

**To be continued...**

A/N: That last scene with Mello was inspired greatly by a watercolor fanart I had stumbled across some months ago on the net. Its this beautiful depiction of Mello and Matt sitting on a roof and Mello is holding a pigeon. One of my favorite DN fanarts. I have no idea who the artist is. If you do, be sure to let me know. I would like to accredit him or her for the inspiration.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Secret  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**:

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi readers! I wrote some six thousand words of this in one go last week, and just sat down to finish the rest and edit. This chapter was an incredible amount of fun for me because, as you know, I like to write action. There were some minor differences in what I had originally planned, and then some major. But as a whole, I like this version much better. Doumi, I know I told you Near and Matt would _that_ spiff in this chapter, but I decided to push it back one chapter so that this one could end on a happy note.

Also, readers, you'll be happy to know that the romance hitches up a knot in the next chapter. Remember to review! Now that we're this far into the story, it's really important to let me know what you're thinking so that I can stay on the right track. I won't beg for them, but they _are_ love in code. Show me some love, baby. And thank you so very much for reading.

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Eight

**Secret**

"_Dayadhvam: I have heard the key_

_Turn in the door once and turn once only_

_We think of the key, each in his prison_

_Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison_

_Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours_

_Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus_

_Da..."_

**~From "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot**

June 13th, 2013

"Danny-boy? It's M. I need another favor."

Dry laughter greeted his statement. Matt narrowed his eyes, the cornflower blue hue flashing in annoyance as he fished cigarettes from his pack and lit one up. The doctor, the long-fingered man across the room, whom Matt presumed had patched him up, began to object, but Akhish shooed him out. Matt ashed into the silver bowl on the stand next to him, turning a sanitized wash bowl into his personal ash tray with a mere flick of his fingers. "Well?" Matt prompted.

"_I'm making no promises_," came the voice on the other end. "_Where the hell is my plane?_"

"Your plane is on its way back to you," Matt answered, trying not to hiss in pain as he scooted off the table and stood. Akhish came back into the room with a thick roll of electrical tape and the hacker's jeans.

"_And you're not on it._"

"No, I'm still in Jerusalem." Matt took the pants and hurried into them, pulling them up and over his waist. His stitches pulled and his side began to bleed. Akhish touched his elbow lightly and Matt put the phone between his cheek and shoulder before holding his arms up. "I need you to authorize a VIP Medevac."

Danny-boy laughed again. "_What? Lost your little friend already? Didn't I say you were out of your fucking mind for going into Israel?_"

His words made Matt angrier than he was willing to show, and he gritted his teeth as Akhish wrapped the electrical tape around his naked torso. "Are you done?" Matt snapped into the phone.

"_Very._"

"Good. I'm—" Matt hissed through his teeth and clenched his eyes closed as Akhish pulled a little too roughly at the wound in his side. "Fuck."

"I apologize."

"_What is that? M, are you hurt?_" Matt wasn't convinced by the concern in Danny-boy's voice. He knew just how self-obsessed this man was and that he really didn't give half a damn about _anyone's_ welfare—except, of course, when it came to what Danny-boy wanted from Matt personally.

Matt took a steadying drag off of his cigarette. "I'm fine. DB, I don't have a lot of time. Will you send the rain?"

"_Absolutely not._"

"Danny-boy," Matt growled, "Don't be stupid. He's—" Matt paused, sharing a long glance with Akhish, as the Gatekeeper straightened and handed him a shirt to wear. "He's important to L," Matt finished, glancing away and feeling a darkness grow in the pit of his belly. His heart hammered from the adrenaline. His side burned like fury. And Danny-boy was being difficult. If they had taken Near yesterday, and he had been in the care of Hezbollah for over eighteen hours...not only could they now be anywhere in the Middle East, but also...but also... "Very important."

Danny-boy was quiet for a moment, considering. Matt used this time to reach back into his pack and procure his makeshift satellite. He looked up to Akhish, who stood close and stared at him with piercing black eyes. "I need a monitor; a television will do. Anything—do you have something like that here?" Akhish was already moving before Matt had finished. The hacker pulled out speakerphones and some cords from his pack as well, assembling everything on the bed in an order only Matt understood. Matt checked the time, reading the clock face hanging from the far wall. "I'm losing daylight here," Matt muttered darkly.

"_No._"

"DB—"

"_M, you've been teasing me for ten years._"

Matt froze, barely noticing when Akhish brought in a small TV and set it on the bed. Matt loathed Danny-boy in that moment more than he has ever hated anyone. Matt knew then that he was going to be blackmailed. And that Near's life would hang in the balance. He tried again: "I can guarantee that the people you answer to will not be pleased if this man disappears."

"_This friend of L?_" Danny-boy mocked, laughing a third time.

"Yes!" Matt answered hotly.

Danny-boy sobered. Matt could hear the deadly calm in his voice. "_I am not a fool. I know that you would not call me at home for a mere _friend _of L's_." Matt paled, and Akhish, sensing it, stilled beside him. "_You would not have asked for a private jet into Israel for a mere_ friend_ of L's. M, you would not be traveling into war zones for a mere_ friend _of L's._"

Matt took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ease the sudden quake in his limbs. He fucked up. He really fucked this up. He reached with trembling hands and began assembling the wires into the monitor. "All the more reason for you to be cooperative," Matt said quietly, despite his rush of panic, despite the anger and the pain. He hooked up the speakers and then attached the satellite.

"_M, from where I'm sitting, you have much more to lose from this than I. Your threats can do nothing now_."

Matt switched on the satellite. As he waited for it to boot up, he met Akhish's stare. The Gatekeeper's black, glittering eyes burned into him. "What do you want?"

"_M, my dear boy, you know exactly what I want_."

Matt's blood ran cold. Akhish lifted his chin. Hezbollah has abducted the known L. They would kill him. And it would be Matt's fault. It would be Matt's fault if Near died. Matt had promised to protect him. Somehow, things had gone very, very wrong. Betray one, save another. Sell his soul, or sacrifice Near. Akhish waited. Danny-boy waited. Matt's mouth thinned. Near was too important to him. "Fine." Akhish's stare turned into a glare, full of loathing and disappointment. "Fine," Matt said. "I'll give you one year." The Gatekeeper turned his back. Matt reached out to grab his arm, to stop him, and missed. The Arab left the room. Matt turned in a circle, his anger reaching a boiling point. "One year," Matt hissed. "And it begins only when L is safely home, do you understand me? If anything happens to him, I swear to God—"

"_Yes, yes, I know. Where is he?_"

"Please wait." Matt turned back to his contraption on the bed, ignoring the throbbing ache in his side, the induced hammer in his chest, the pounding in his head. "I'm tracking him."

"_You placed a homing device on L_." Danny-boy's voice was rich with laughter.

"He is a very special friend," Matt said, meaning it and not meaning it. He didn't know what he meant. Only that it would amuse Danny-boy, and at the moment, that was enough. He eyed the satellite, the black and white fuzz on the television, and smiled when the beeping began. The red shirt, the one Matt had given him in Japan; Near was still wearing it. "Coordinates are longitude one, nine, four, six, seven, east. And latitude, three, two, seven, five, eight, five, north. What is that location?" The cigarette had burned down to a pillar of ash, and yet Matt continued to clench the filter between his teeth, listening intently as the speakers repeated the transmission. Same location. He wasn't moving. Wherever they had taken Near, they had stopped.

"_M_."

"I'm listening."

"_Sent it down. Your friend's in Iraq. Twenty miles west of Baghdad_."

"Fuck me. Are you sure?"

"_Yes. Abu Ghraib_."

Matt froze. "What?"

"_Abu Ghraib. How soon can you get to the border?_" Danny-boy was all business now.

Matt lifted his eyes. Akhish had returned to watch from the doorway. Matt pressed his hand over the phone and looked steadily at his Arab friend. "They took him to Abu Ghraib. I need to get to the border."

"We will be enemies soon." The Gatekeeper was angry still, his voice filled with regret.

"We are not enemies yet, Akhish, my friend. Do this one last thing for me?" Matt's voice was soft. He knew he had no right to ask this of him.

Something passed over the Arab's glittering, black eyes. At long last, he nodded.

"General," Matt said into the phone. "Send the rain. I'll call when I'm at the border. Don't go in without me."

~*~

"Ring around the rosies, pocket full of posies..." The child squatted in the water, running his fingers through it, causing ripples in the tepid, freezing rank. The child looked up at him. It was Mello. A younger version of him than he had ever seen. His eyes glowed green. "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the child was gone.

Near's limbs shivered uncontrollably. They had beaten him while he was blinded, with the sack over his head and his hands and ankles bound. Then they had interrogated him. For all their trouble, they got no answers from him. After the interrogation, and another beating, they had thrown him in this cell. It had barely enough room for him to stand, and there was freezing water up to his knees. It was pitch black in this dungeon, this tiny oubliette. His right arm was in a blaze of pain. Near did not think it was broken, but it certainly felt like it was. Near understood the awkward angle that it hung from his shoulder, knowing it was dislocated and there was nothing he could do about it. His hands were still tied behind his back.

They had questioned him about L. Not about his cases. This meant they did not think that they had the real L, only one of his pawns. Near believed he had made a very good decision in keeping the original L's death a secret. His captors were confused to be sent for L, but to find only a young albino male.

Mello returned, a larger apparition than before. He stood behind him, tracing his cold fingers along the enflamed muscle and bone of his shoulder blade, where his arm dangled in agony. He shifted, turning to face his ghost, his tormentor. There was no malice in Mello's gaze, but his eyes were not kind either. It was a strange look, one that he had never observed from Mello before. One solely of interest, and not hate.

"Does it hurt?" Mello inquired, his voice soft, the skin around his mouth stretching strangely below the scars on his face.

He felt pathetic at the tremble in his voice, the sob that threatened to follow. "Very."

Mello reached out to touch his cheek, but he flinched back at the freezing cold fingertips, a fresh wave of tremors wracking his body. Mello dropped his hand, his eyes speaking volumes of regret. "I did not mean for this. You are too stubborn."

"The coffee," he answered, his voice shaking as hard as his limbs, "calling the kettle black..."

"Hm." Mello shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing away. His eyes seemed focused on something far away. "He'll come."

"I know."

"Don't die before he gets here. He'll be very angry."

"I think," he said, but then stopped as another wave of violent trembling shook him. This cold was torture. He had long since lost feeling in his legs. "I think...he will--he will be angry...anyway."

Mello nodded and glanced back. "He cares for you." Mello's eyes hardened. "You are stupid for not seeing that. For not seeing that it will kill him if you die here."

It was his turn to look away. "If he had not lied to me--"

"He lies to everyone," Mello interrupted dismissively. "He _omits_ things from you. To protect you. He does not lie to you."

"Omissions are lies."

"No, they are not. Trust me, when it comes to him, there's a very big difference."

He shook his head, defiant even in this. It was difficult, even now, to agree with anything Mello says. "You say to trust you, but you are dead."

"Yes," Mello agreed, his voice like acid. "And if you die, like this, I will personally make your time here Hell."

He believed him, and he was bitter for it. "You already make my life hell."

To that, Mello only laughed.

~*~

Crew Chief William Denvers leaned over the helicopter skid of the HH-60L Black Hawk that had been deployed to the Israeli border, trusting his bungee chord to keep him on the aero-medical craft. He was a little surprised when the man jumped lightly out of the moving jeep, the satellite they had been tracking held high in one arm. Denvers had been under the impression that the individual they were picking up was injured.

Denvers held out his hand as the Black Hawk descended, which the man, running swiftly with his head ducked towards the helicopter, quickly grasped and hauled himself aboard. The young man looked haggard, his wind swept auburn hair falling crazily around a jaw that could use a good shave. The man's eyes were covered with large, tinted goggles and his clothes were baggy, hanging awkwardly off his thin frame as if they didn't belong to him. Beside him, his lieutenant cocked his rifle at the driver of the jeep that met them at the border.

"Who's the driver?" Denvers demanded.

The young man glanced at him as he pushed his pack under the seat, filled with something large, rounded and bulky. "A friend. Let's get this thing in the air."

The Black Hawk ascended quickly, at seven hundred feet per minute. The man used this time to move around the cabin, ignoring the medics that had come with them and hooking his satellite into an electrical conduit. "I'm sending the coordinates for the package directly into your navigational system," the man shouted, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the engines. "In case the subject moves while we're airborne." The man glanced around the cabin then, seeming to notice for the first time the medics crowding the back, ready with their instruments and the OBOGS, waiting for orders with perplexed expressions. "What the hell is this?"

"We were told this was going to be a medical evacuation," Denvers answered, trying not to seem as confused as he was.

The man looked annoyed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he put on the earphones Denvers handed him. "It is, but that's for the pick up in Iraq." The man looked distracted then, listening to whoever contacted him through the earphones. "Don't be stupid, DB, I told you I was fine. If you send a bunch of HH-60L's, we're not going to have enough firepower--" The man paused. "Alright...DAP's? How many? Good..."

Denvers watched him talk, feeling uncomfortable. Who was this guy to accuse the general of being stupid? Abruptly, the man quieted, listening instead to the beeping coming from the satellite he had brought with him. "They haven't moved. No, we don't have time for that. We'll rendezvous with the battalion in the Iraqi aerospace." The man suddenly ripped off his earphones and looked as though he was going to hurl them across the cabin. But he seemed to think better of it as he delicately set them by his feet instead. Then he ran a hand through his hair and rose again. He was handed a vest and a helmet, then a rifle, all of which he handled with the seeming ease of long practice. The he stood by the opposite door, gazing out over the golden landscape as it whipped by, looking as if he was born to be a door gunner.

He did not speak again until fifty MH-60L Direct Action Penetrators swarmed around them some two hours later. He turned then, and beckoned to Denvers, who rose willingly, instructing another soldier to man his M60, and approached the strange young man. He seemed older now, more tired, and his left hand shook. He saw Denvers looking at it and moved to shove his hand into his pants pocket. "Chief?"

"Denvers," he introduced himself.

"Denvers," the young man echoed, as if storing the name in some special archive. "I am M."

The name meant nothing to Denvers, only that it had shown up in his briefing and that after they had picked him up, they were to evacuate a nameless VIP from Abu Ghraib, a prison that had been used by US soldiers in the Iraq War years ago. Denvers nodded for him to continue.

"I will go in and retrieve the target. The only Black Hawk that is going to touch ground is this one, and only to drop me off and pick us up. Do not venture any closer than fifty yards. Do I make myself clear?"

Denvers nodded. He didn't know what rank the man was, but he gave him a title anyway. He commanded a presence that spoke of being used to giving orders. "Yes, sir."

"Target is an albino," the man continued. "I imagine he'll be the only one where we're going. If he comes out without me, take him and go. Don't wait for me." When Denvers seemed ready to object, the man glared at him. "That was an order, not a suggestion. Do I make myself clear?"

Denvers pressed his mouth into a thin line. The boy was young enough to be his son. "Yes, sir."

"Good." The man looked back over the landscape, nodding at the crew chief manning the side of the Black Hawk DAP riding parallel to him. The crew chief nodded back. "Make sure the doc knows to keep him out of the sunlight whenever possible. He burns easily. I don't know what other injuries he might have." The man's voice seemed to break at this, and he wouldn't meet Denvers' eyes. It was then that the Chief realized the target was close to the strange young man who stood in his bird and gave him orders.

Chief Denvers softened a little in his demeanor towards him, having lost none too few comrades during war time himself. The ache never goes away, neither does the guilt. "This crew will take care of him, M. I swear it."

The man, M, nodded once. The conversation was over.

~*~

The Lebanese guerillas shouted a question at him

Mello, standing beside him, told him not to answer it. Near ignored them both. He tried to remember that in some places, a guerilla is called a freedom fighter. Indeed, the Hezbollah had made quite reputation for themselves when they had fought against the Israeli invasion of Lebanon decades ago. And later, they continued to fight against occupying armies of foreign soil. They had battled the U.S. forces while they occupied Iraq, and even now, they championed for the freedom of Jerusalem. Even so, they had become little more than thugs in this particular war. They aided Iran during the invasion only because they hated Israel so. Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold.

After the invasion of Israel, they became a nuisance even to Iran, a thorn in everyone's side. They are no longer as organized as they used to be, and smaller sects have been breaking off to fight for the highest bidder. Like this one, who apparently had been employed by someone who hated L so much, and had gotten wind of him being in Israel, that they had sent the Hezbollah after him. Near's first guess was K. He could not fathom why she would suddenly wish to dispose of L. It angered him, thinking of her, that she would disappear so thoroughly and not even return to aid the fight against Kira--even though, surely, she would have known about their struggle against him as she had aided Matt.

Someone backhanded him, and his head whipped back. His tongue darted out, tasting the blood that began pouring from his cracked and parched lips and mouth. He returned his gaze to the floor. Near reasoned that K must have had Matt followed since aiding him in Japan, and after he had gone back to Wammy's, deduced that he had taken L, and then began to make her move. Near still could not decide what her motive could possibly be. Had there been bad blood between her and L?

Another shouted question. Near did not respond. Suddenly, they were shaking him. He bit back a cry as a fresh wave of pain shook him. They were untying his hands and yanking roughly on his dislocated arm, causing a nauseating swell of pain to shudder through him, over and over. Near gritted his teeth when they let his right arm go and grasped his left. They were pushing up a table and splaying his hand atop of it.

That's when Near saw the hammer.

Tears pricked his eyes as he understood what they were going to do next. Standard torture procedure. The Hezbollah had learned well from the U.S. occupation. Starve the prisoner, do not let him sleep, beat him frequently during interrogations, and then, naturally, make it worse. They were going to smash his fingers with the hammer.

One man held him fast by his wrist, pressing his hand into the table. Near tried to curl his fingers into a fist, to protect them. But they merely laughed and uncurled them. They knew his right arm was helpless and let it dangle freely. The other man lifted the hammer--and paused as the entire foundation shook violently.

Near jerked his hand, surprising them with his swiftness. He used their distraction to his advantage and kicked backwards, freeing himself from their grip. His left hand shot out and grabbed the hammer. Near swung hard, catching one in the face. He watched the man's face crumple inwards, splattering brain tissue and bone all around. He was grabbed from behind, but he twisted quickly, sweeping his feet under his assailant and causing him to fall backwards. Then Near rolled, gasping at the pain that emanated from his shoulder, and lunged forward, bringing the hammer down as hard as he could. Near caught the second man in the throat with the back of the hammer. He jerked the tool and wrenched it free, tearing the man's throat out and consequently splaying his blood and gore everywhere. Near rocked back on his feet and whirled around. There had only been the two of them, but more would come.

The structure shook again, and Near looked up to the ceiling. He wasn't sure how many floors he was below the surface, but he was certain that sounded like--like bombs and gunfire. Wherever he was, it was under attack.

~*~

"They're focusing their attack on the front of the base," Denvers shouted to M. "We're going to drop you off at the rear in five minutes, once most of the enemy fighters are drawn away."

M nodded. His skin had taken on a sickly grey pallor, but his eyes were focused and intent. M hoisted his automatic rifle as Denvers attached a bungee chord to his harness. They had decided to lower the bird enough so he could jump out without needing a parachute.

They circled around the base twice, as the flock of DAP Black Hawks they had brought with them swarmed over the target and launched their attack. Missiles rained down and M60's shot ammunition in an endless torrent. M smiled to himself in grim satisfaction. It seemed their plan was working. The Hezbollah came out in the dozens to arm weapons that were never made for them, being shot down and gutted often before they could even man their defensive posts. After the second cycle, the HH-60L began to descend.

M jumped from the craft when Denvers motioned for him to go and he took off at a run. He didn't look back as the Black Hawk ascended; he was too busy shooting down the enemy as he barreled in.

~*~

Near stumbled down the hall, holding his right arm close to his chest while the keys he had taken off of the dead men in the interrogation room dangled from the fingers of his left. The ground shook more frequently as he wandered through the halls aimlessly, feeling half-dead. He was disoriented and bone-weary, his exhaustion fighting with the rush of natural adrenaline. The electricity had gone out in the entire building almost five minutes ago, leaving only the dim emergency lights to illuminate his path.

The building shuddered dangerously under the strain of the explosions from above. Near turned the corner and then had to immediately fling himself back as the ceiling collapsed. Heavy beams and plaster exploded all around him. He scrambled back to his feet and ran back the way he had come. The emergency lights flickered and smoke began filling the hallway. Near coughed as the acrid smoke filled his lungs and stung his eyes. A figure appeared at the end of the hall. Near froze and pressed himself against the wall, blinking rapidly against the tears in his eyes.

"This way."

Near coughed again. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. He peered at the figure at the end of hall, watched it turn and disappear down another corridor. "Mello?"

"This way."

~*~

Matt could hear only the loud hammer of his heartbeat. His breathing was labored as he made his way through the building, following the beeps and trills emanating from his earpiece, honing in on the device that tracked Near. His side ached like fury and Matt could feel the tape wrapped around his torso loosen from the sticky blood that poured from the knife wound. The adrenaline shot was wearing off, and Matt was afraid he would collapse before he reached Near. He couldn't let that happen. He had loosed Hell on Earth to get him out. He had sold his soul to the devil.

Matt paused, hearing someone enter the stairwell he was descending. He crouched low and peered through the scope of his rifle, pointing it down towards the sound. A Lebanese man came running wildly up the stairs, his face black with ash from the structure fires below. Matt breathed in deeply and pulled the trigger. With a spray of blood and a crash, the man toppled and fell backwards, dead. Matt continued on. Low and fast, down and down.

Abruptly, the trills from his ear piece became faster. He paused, just outside a door. He checked the window, but the slit was small. He quickly turned the knob and inched it open. He checked left, and then right, and then rushed to the other end of the hall. Low and fast. Low and fast. It's what Watari had always drilled into him. Keep your head down. Stay low, stay fast; don't go anywhere your gun hasn't checked first.

The trills and beeps led him down one hall, and then another, the corridors dark and smoky. Someone coughed a few meters away. Close enough that Matt should have been able to see him if it hadn't been so smoky. Matt sank even lower, pressing his back against the wall, and ignored the pain lancing his side.

"Mello?" a voice called. Another cough.

Matt lifted his head, the hammer in his chest skipping a beat. "_Near?!_"

The figure paused. Matt straightened--and then rushed forward. Matt swept Near into a fierce embrace, hugging him close, causing Near to cry out in pain. Immediately, Matt released him.

"Matt?" Near peered into Matt's face, his dark eyes swimming in a sea of pain.

"Yes, it's me." Matt led him to a doorway off to one side. And then his hands were all over him, checking for injuries...but not quite as impersonal as it should have been. He needed to touch him to make sure he was real.

"My arm..."

"Oh, Jesus," Matt breathed. "What did they do to you?" Matt found the dislocation. He twisted Near's arm, braced the detective with his legs, and jerked the limb hard and then pushed. Near screamed and then sagged against him. Matt wrapped him up in his arms and rocked him until the pain ebbed. Breathing heavily, Near finally lifted his head.

"What's happening to this place?"

Matt touched Near's face, tenderly, protectively. "I sent the rain."

Near wasn't sure what that meant, but he obliged when Matt turned and tugged on his hand, urging for him to follow. They ran quickly and quietly back toward the stairwell. Matt had re-shouldered his rifle and made sure its nozzle always went first, and then him, and then Near. They took the steps two at a time, up three flights of stairs. Near found it easier to breathe after the second flight, despite their run, but then the smoke thickened again at the ground level.

An explosion rattled the stairwell, and Matt shoved Near in front of him and out into the hall as the stairs groaned. Matt had barely hurled himself into the corridor when the stairwell abruptly crumpled like a tumbled tower of Near's dice. "This place his falling down around us," Matt shouted, taking Near's hand again. "We have to hurry."

Near followed Matt as they took off at a run, twisting this way and that, stopping abruptly so Matt could shoot down a Hezbollah fighter, and then continuing on. Suddenly, they were outside, and Near fell to his knees with the searing brightness of the desert sun. Matt tugged on his elbow, urging him up. Near blinked, scrambling to get his feet under him as he heard the whistle of missiles being dropped, and the angry roar of fires blazing, and the thunder of the explosions rattling the entire base. Finally, the stars warping his vision gave way and Near could see. He stumbled again, gaping at the battle screaming around him. The blue sky looked black with the swarm of Black Hawks flying over head, the plumes of smoke rose for miles, thick and black and angry. Everywhere, Lebanese freedom fighters screamed and died. Near looked at Matt with wide eyes, realizing for the first time how far this man, Matt, was willing to go to keep him safe. How powerful his anger was. How frightening his notion of revenge could be.

But Matt was blinking rapidly at him, a dazed look glazing his cornflower blue eyes. "Matt?" Near rushed forward as the hacker dropped to one knee, clutching his side and shaking his head jerkily. "Matt? Matt! Where--"

And then Near saw it, some fifty yards away. A Black Hawk was landing. They were shouting to them. "Matt, get up."

Matt's eyes were wide and his breathing was coming in short gasps. Near took the rifle and flung it over his shoulder. Then, he grabbed Matt's arm and hauled him up. "I'll get you there," Near shouted to him, repeating the hacker's words back to him. "But I need you to keep moving!"

Matt helped where he could, his feet shuffling beneath him, and it was just enough. They made it to the helicopter and two medics jumped down and helped haul Matt inside as another two soldiers kept their weapons trained on the field before and aft. Then they helped Near aboard, who came willingly but shook off the medics who tried to cover his mouth with a breathing mask. "Help him," Near commanded, pointing to Matt who lay on the floor of the cabin, blinking slowly and breathing heavily. The medics lifted him onto a lift and strapped him down for the flight as the helicopter made its hasty ascension. Matt's hand fell away from his side as he lost consciousness. His hand was covered in blood.

Near took his hand as another medic strapped him in to his seat, watching anxiously as the medics tore off the hacker's shirt and cut into the electrical tape wrapped around his torso.

~*~

Matt could hear the hustle and bustle of the medic unit long before he realized he was conscious. His mind felt muddled, a heavy fog pressing down on thoughts that didn't quite have purpose or reason. Slowly, the thought came to him to open his eyes. The first thing he saw was the light. It was long and rectangular, the sort that commonly stitched in regular form in ceilings. He contemplated it for a moment, moving his swollen tongue inside a mouth that was parched and dry. He grunted and moved his head to one side, recognizing the sharp tang of need rising from his belly. He needed a cigarette.

Someone was pressing something cold and metallic against his lips. Without thinking, he parted them and felt crushed ice slip into his mouth. Not quite the cigarette he craved, but it was delicious all the same. He closed his eyes again as the ice melted in his mouth and tried to shake the grogginess out of his head.

He had woken up like this before. The residual muddle-headedness was familiar, and so were the beeping sounds and the hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses. They had given him ice chips, then, too. However, three years ago, he had been in considerable more pain. Now, there was only an ache in his side. Matt wondered, briefly, how much trauma one human body could take before it defected.

All things considered, he was lucky. Most of the bullets had merely embedded themselves into muscle tissue, or torn through ligaments. It was that one blasted bullet that had shattered his left ulna, the under-bone of his forearm, which had nearly rendered it useless. It had taken nearly two years of excruciating surgeries and long hours of physical therapy to get it to function like it used to. The nerve damage caused it to shake still, and it served as a constant reminder of the sole hardest decision Matt had ever had to make in his life. As if the scars weren't reminders enough.

He opened his eyes again, trying to blink away the grogginess that blurred his vision. As he laid there and thought, he couldn't help feeling that something was misplaced. That he was supposed to be--

Matt sat up with a jolt, and struggled against the large hand that tried to push him back down. He shouted indiscernibly, ripping the IV out of his arm and the other tubes and wires attached to his body. Another big hand shot out and tried to snag his wrist. The killer inside of Matt coiled and then whipped around, abandoning the tubes to grab the man's throat. He squeezed, ignoring the strangled sputtering sounds until the fuzzy figure bent over him sharpened into someone he recognized. Instantly, Matt released him and felt a snag of guilt tug at him. Denvers took several steps back, rubbing at his neck with an intensely shocked look on his face.

"Sorry," Matt muttered. "I--Sorry." It seemed like such a lame thing to say to someone you had just very nearly killed, and Matt momentarily forgot the reason for his sudden panic. Until it slammed back into him.

Matt swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting his bearings. The bed next to him looked tousled, but it was vacant. He turned back to Denvers, who was staring at him with pursed lips. "Where's...?

The Crew Chief's eyes flickered, and then he sighed. "He's with the general."

Matt jumped right to his feet, ignoring the ache in his side--and the fact that he wore a hospital gown than bared his ass for all to see--and made for the door. Denvers cleared his throat, and when Matt glanced back at him, he tossed a pair of military camouflage pants and an ID badge to him. Matt caught the items, and slipped the badge over his neck. Then Matt grabbed the door handle, pausing only to send a grim smile Denvers' way. "Really, sorry for the, you know--"

"Yeah, yeah," Denvers interrupted, waving his hands at him and lowering himself into a nearby chair. "Just go."

As Matt left the room, he could hear the Crew Chief muttering something about him being a "...crazy, intense son of a bitch..." Matt hopped into the pants the chief had given him as he walked through the medical unit, glaring ominously at the nurses who turned as he passed and voiced objections. He paused just outside the unit, glancing quickly at the fire escape route, before continuing on. From that sole glance, Matt had been able to derive that he was currently aboard the _Wasp_, a LHD aircraft carrier. This made perfect sense, given that Danny-boy had sent him an entire battalion of Black Hawks. He had also been able to familiarize himself with the general layout of the ship, and made his way towards the bridge. He found the general's office near the bow, one storey beneath the bridge, and managed to get into a heated argument with a female corporal who insisted that he could not just _barge_ in.

"You," he grated, reaching around her to punch in his code. "Fuck off."

The glare she sent him could have melted steel. "Sir, you need to back away from the door." She had her weapon drawn, and seemed quite serious about shooting him. However the door slid open, making her pause, and then she lowered her weapon altogether when she heard the general's smooth voice.

"Thank you, Sally. M, please; do come in." And then: "I wish you wouldn't make such a scene."

Matt sidestepped the scowling corporal and marched into General Daniel B. "Danny-boy" Whitman's office, slamming, for good measure, the door behind him. He glared furiously around the room, calming only when he spotted Near curled into a chair in the corner of the office. General Whitman sat behind his desk, a handful of documents in his hand and his desk nearly impeccable. Both men gazed expectantly at the hacker.

Matt, for his part, felt frozen in space. A thousand thoughts stormed through his mind as he realized that Near and Danny-boy had obviously spoken at great length. Near met his eyes in that quiet way of his, his face a stony mask and his arm in a loose sling. The detective's cheeks and nose were slightly pink from where the sun had burned him in the desert, and there were nasty bruises scaling the length of Near's right temple and neck, ugly green and yellow blemishes disappearing down into his shirt. His bottom lip also sported a dark gash, where it had been hit repeatedly during his time in Abu Ghraib. Near's dark eyes were unreadable, and Matt hoped to God that the general hadn't told him of their agreement.

"It seems you're feeling better, M," General Whitman remarked, his voice deep with amusement.

"What day is it?" Matt asked, his eyes never leaving Near's face.

"June twenty-third," the general answered, returning his attention to the papers in his hand. He shuffled them, signed the topmost, and then slid them into a file. "You've been here for ten days. We had reason to believe you wouldn't sit still long enough for your wound to heal, so we gave you a sedative."

"And who authorized that?" Matt demanded angrily, turning to General Whitman with murder in his gaze. Despite his ire, his fingers went under the hem of the hospital gown and prodded the wound in his side. The stitches had been removed, leaving a slightly raise scab and some minor bruising.

"I did," Near answered softly.

Matt dragged his eyes back to the detective curled like an overgrown child in the chair. Near met his gaze unflinching, his stare beginning to border on accusing. "You should not have come yourself," Near admonished in a flat voice. "It was stupid and reckless of you."

Matt glanced away and meandered over to the general's desk, where he picked up a pack of smokes and lit one. "Coming from you, that sounds almost like concern."

"It is."

Matt looked back at him with burning eyes. It was Near's turn to look away, and color stained his pale face and neck. It was then that Matt realized Near was dressed like a soldier, in camouflage pants and a jacket. Near noticed him looking and said flatly: "They burned our clothes."

Matt took a deep drag off of his cigarette. Near seemed uncomfortable, and he knew they were all dancing around the elephant in the room. Finally, Matt gathered his nerve. "So, you two seem chummy."

"Indeed," came Near's mumbled, monotone voice. "_Danny-boy's_ company has been rather informative." Near looked up, his dark eyes hardening with something Matt had begun to call resolve. "We are on even ground now."

Matt addressed the general with a minute toss of his head. "Get out."

The general continued to seem amused, instead of insulted, and laughed softly to himself as he rose. Without a word, General Whitman left his office, shutting the door behind him.

"I would have told you," Matt began.

"When?" Near demanded, his eyes flashing. "Before or after you threw yourself in front of another bullet? Would they have been your dying words to me? 'I have the U.S. Armed Forces under my thumb'?"

Feeling abruptly self-conscious, Matt tried to pull down the sleeves of the hospital gown he wore, but they were too short and the scars on his arms remained painfully visible. "That's not fair. It's nothing you haven't done."

"I rallied an American President to stand up against Kira and to give me protection, because everyone else had either died or abandoned me," Near retorted indignantly. "I did not hold an entire nation's military hostage."

Matt balled his hands into fists. It hurt him to think Near considered his absence during the Kira case as abandonment. But there was nothing he could say to that that wouldn't turn both their worlds completely inside out. "It's not like that. I give a little, I take a little. Countries pay you in money for what you do. I get paid in services. It's perfectly fair."

"I never said it was unfair," Near said dismissively. "I simply continue to be perturbed by the fact that you hide these things from me. Why--" Near shook his head, the monotone note of his voice cracking. "Why did you hide your scars?"

Matt's face burned, but he did not answer.

"Did you not wish me to ever truly believe it was you?" Near pressed, his black burning holes into him. "If it had not been for Mello's will, would you have never..." His voice cracked again, and he looked away his face contorted in an expression Matt had never seen him wear. Hurt anger. "Would you have never alerted me? Informed me that you were alive?"

Matt stood in the center of the room, smoking his cigarette contemplatively as Near stared at him, waiting for answers. "No. No, I don't think so," Matt said at last. "I was never under the impression that you gave a shit."

"I didn't," Near conceded after a loaded pause. "But things are somewhat different...now."

Matt scoffed and jabbed his cigarette into the ashtray on General Whitman's desk. "Nothing like getting shot at and tortured to make you want be best pals with someone."

"I do not blame you for that."

"I'm sorry that it happened."

"Please, do not be insufferably idiotic. What happened was in no way your responsibility."

Matt disagreed, but he smiled at Near's words. He met his eyes then, watching as Near smiled too. It was a small smile, just a curl at the corners of his mouth, and somewhat pained, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"I'll tell the general to take us to England," Matt said, circling General Whitman's desk and seating himself.

"Why?" Near looked genuinely confused.

"I'm taking you home."

"No, that will not be necessary."

"Near, don't be ridiculous. This thing almost killed you in Israel."

"I gave my word," Near said in a tone that broached no argument. "I intend to keep it."

**To be continued...**

**A/N: **OK, a few notes...

**Hezbollah **is a factual militia that rose up against the Israeli occupation of Lebanon in the eighties. Because of the nature of the war that I made up for the setting of the second arch, I thought that it would be...ironic...to include these guys in here. Despite the nature of their presence in this story, I actually have an immense amount of grudging respect for them. No, I am not a war-monger, or a terrorist, or anti-American--quite the contrary, actually. But I maintain an open mind about certain insurgencies. I am aware that every guerilla militia has a country backing them that believe, fervently, that they are Freedom Fighters, for better or for worse. And I also understand that each of these believe desperately that they are fighting for a cause that is right and justified in their own mind. Whether they are right or wrong is not for me to say. Well and so, the reason I went to some length to write this here, is because I want to make sure that their mentioning in this fic is not taken as disrespectful to any Lebanese readers--which, according to my reader traffic thingy, I have at least two.

**Abu Ghraib** is a prison in Iraq, some twenty miles away from Baghdad, which the U.S. currently uses to 'interrogate' prisoners for information on 'terrorists'. If any of you keep an eye on current affairs, you understand already that this prison is rather scandalous as these prisoners are victims of psychological and physical torture. So, of course, its mention in this chapter is also ironic, and mockingly so. It amused me to have U.S. forces come in and bomb the facility where Near was being tortured for information--for reasons that I hope I've made rather clear. This is a subject I feel strongly about. I firmly believe that torture is evil and a war crime that _no one_ should be able to get away with. No matter how powerful and untouchable they think they are.

**HH-60L Black Hawks **are fascinating military helicopters that specialize in medical evacuations. I also mention **door gunners**, but be assured that during an operation, only a Crew Chief and/or a specialized soldier are allowed to man the M60's at the open doors of a Black Hawk. Of course, Matt's a special case because, well, he's Matt. **DAP**'s are sick--_sick_--military helicopters that have gatling guns, torpedoes, missiles--I mean the whole nine, baby. As far as Black Hawks go, this one is the Zero One Gundam of them all. (Am I a geek, or what?)

**LHD**, just as I described it in the story, is an aircraft carrier. It is somewhat shorter than a regular one, because it focuses primarily on helicopters. But the standard shape applies. These things are sick too, can go up to twenty knots forward, and usually travels with a bunch of other ships because its somewhat weaker in artillery and maneuverability than, say, a battleship.

"**Bring the rain." **is a phrase I've heard in movies too frequently to not want in on the fun too. I have absolutely no idea if that is actually what they would say, or if it is just standard Hollywood bullshit. Ha ha. Also, would they really send fifty Black Hawks on an air assault like that? Hmmm. Probably no. Most likely, it would just be a few, and then back up cover would come from two or three battle jets. But I just couldn't get this Apocalypse Now-esque image out of my head with just this _swarm_ of helicopters coming down and wreaking freaking havoc. So, you know, there you go.

**Nebo:** Thank you so much for your glowing review! I'm so happy you're enjoying it! While I have written my fair share of gratuitous fluff, I felt, when beginning this, that these characters deserved a little bit more. And since we knew very little about them, there was nearly unlimited possibility of where I could take them. I enjoyed that you described their dialogue as "random but relevant". Very perceptive, and I certainly hope you enjoyed the update! Here, they were thrown into an even more intense situation, and when they stumbled out of it, I wanted them to seem a little warmer towards each other. Near's guilt makes him off-balance, and Matt's guilt makes him even more protective. So now we're beginning to see the start of a relationship, even though the reasons could ultimately come back and bite them in the ass. Thanks again for your review and for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Soldier  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: Prepare for many. Especially concerning Matt. And some for Mello.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi readers! I've planned a few gifts for you in this chapter! You've all been so, so patient. However, my present comes with a price, and yet another surprise. I hope you enjoy it! Full beta credit goes to the lovely Doumi! Thanks again, for staying up late to read over this chapter and give insightful comments. Seriously, sometimes I don't know what I would do without you. And thank you, to all my readers, so much for sticking with this story!

Yours,

Gloria

P.S. Further notes are at the bottom.

P.P.S. Mello makes only one, very brief cameo in this chapter. I will give you cookies if you can spot him.

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Nine

**Soldier**

"_After the torchlight red on sweaty faces_

_After the frosty silence in the gardens_

_After the agony in stony places_

_The shouting and the crying_

_Prison and Palace and reverberation_

_Of thunder of spring over distant mountains_

_He who was living is now dead_

_We who were living are now dying_

_With a little patience..."_

**~From **_**What the Thunder Said**_**, "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot**

July 1st, 2013

The language of guilt is an interesting one. It has three sisters; the first sister is merely the acknowledgement of wrong-doing. Shame and regret often accompany this awareness. The second sister is the confession. And the third is taking responsibility. While Near had absolutely no intention in humoring the second and third sister, the first sister had him in a stranglehold.

Before, Near's compliance was drawn from his confusion about his predicament and his desire to know who it was that had abducted him from Wammy's. Now...Now it was the first sister of guilt that made him amiable and committed to see this thing done. It troubled him greatly that Matt had been injured during their escapade through Israel, and that Matt had recklessly torn through Abu Ghraib to rescue him. He did not like that he was troubled by it, but had given up his apathy with a frustrated sigh as he had watched Matt recuperate on the _Wasp_. There was no question now, this man was indeed Matt.

And Near remembered now with obnoxious regularity that it had been Matt who had stepped between him and Mello's wrath. For whatever secret reason, Matt had been there during their childhood, casually preventing Mello from acting on his murderous rage. And now, so many years later, it seemed Matt had decided to take up the mantle again, acting as a guard between Near and Mello's undead scheming.

Near cursed his stupidity now. He had deduced immediately that General Whitman was Danny-boy-- it wasn't hard, as the lieutenant sent to retrieve him from the hospital wing a mere twenty-four hours after his arrival on the _Wasp_ had addressed Near as "L". He understood now why the hallucination of the prior L had been chastising him for not paying attention, a ghost in his subconscious that Near allowed for purposes he still had not quite ascertained. Abandoned military airstrips, a loaned jet with its own pilot, Matt's guarded and dangerous demeanor when speaking to and about his "friends"...they were military. Not all, of course. Akhish had not been a soldier--at least not one belonging to the U.S. No, Near surmised that Matt's network was expansive and that if it was thoroughly known by any one party except for the hacker who controlled it, it would prove quite destructive indeed.

Matt, himself, was Near's biggest clue. Near knew Matt's abilities. And when Near had come to fully believe that Matt was indeed who he said he was, the pieces had fallen quite abruptly into place. Matt's skills, if known about, would obviously be sought after. And while Matt insisted that he did not sell his services loosely to the highest bidder, he did, quite shamelessly, allot certain services to individuals the hacker deemed could be most profitable to him in the future. _I give a little, I take a little_, Matt had told him. _It's perfectly fair. _

Near should have known that. He should have figured it out. L would have known. L would not have let his feelings cloud his judgment. However, in this sense, Near was beginning to feel weaker than his predecessor. He had wanted so badly for it to be really Matt...And by the flip side, he sorely wished that it wasn't. Because Near did not want to suspect Matt for any crime, least of all a multi-homicide of Japanese police officers. But it was Matt. It was. It is. Matt is alive.

And this Matt had grown up.

He was wiser, faster, more physical and aggressive, as well as the most brilliant hacker in the world; the most dangerous national security threat of this age, and--by Danny-boy's reasoning--the most powerful weapon of this age too. He was street smart and savvy, hiding the wealth of his knowledge and the power of his network behind goggles, messy hair, and an easy smile. It was absurd, Near thought now, how much he had underestimated the man who had abducted him from Wammy's and convinced him to scatter Mello's ashes. _I wouldn't need to abduct you to take your money Near_, Matt had said. Near smiled at that conversation now, realizing how ridiculous it must have been for Matt when he had sat on that dirty mattress and treated the hacker like a common criminal.

No, he was no common criminal. Indeed, he may yet prove to be a criminal. But common? No. Never. This was another thing that bothered Near relentlessly. Would he have the heart to arrest Matt, should he prove to be the culprit of a crime Near was investigating? Would he even have the ability to? Would Near now suspect Matt for every complicated crime he stumbled upon because he knew the hacker's abilities?

And Near was suddenly struck with the thought that it had taken an immense amount of courage for him to come to the detective, to reveal that he was alive. Perhaps that was why he had lived out the past three years allowing everyone to think he was dead and gone. Maybe Matt didn't have the heart to be hunted by Near, didn't want either of them to be put in that situation. But then what was his purpose? Why did he construct a network so massive and complicated? _What was his goal?_

Despite the long hours in General Whitman's company before Matt had recuperated, neither he nor the general could extricate much information from the other. Initially, the general had greeted Near in his office as L and Near had answered that he knew he was Danny-boy. After that, they spoke random, ambiguous questions at one another every few hours, like a game of chess, trying to get a feel for how much they were willing to reveal. For Near's part, he was willing to reveal absolutely nothing aside from the fact that he knew the general was DB. He would not even confirm that he was L. General Whitman proved immediately to be the sort of man to only give what was offered. And as Near wouldn't budge, neither had he. So, until Matt had woken, a week later, Near found himself curled in a chair in the general's office sitting quietly and left alone with his thoughts. They both agreed that while the hacker was unconscious, it would be best to keep Near away from the eyes and ears of the crew. The fewer people who saw him, the better. When the hacker did finally come to, Near found himself more than a little relieved.

Matt continued to insist, during their time aboard the _Wasp_, that Near's injuries outweighed his minor...impalement. Indeed, Near still suffered from an incredible amount of soreness from the dozens of bruises that speckled his body, where his captors had beaten him. His shoulder continued to ache with a fierceness that rivaled any discomfort Near had ever suffered in his short life, but his hypothermia had been treated long before Matt had even awoke from the hospital wing and Near had suffered no broken bones to speak of. So when Matt had attempted to mother him, Near had snapped at him waspishly to leave be until the hacker had relented. Despite Near's aversion to Matt's half-hearted pestering, their remaining time aboard the _Wasp_ had been...rather pleasant--even if Near's troubled thoughts made him disgruntled and grouchy. For his part, Matt had spent a good deal of his time quietly liquidating the machinery he'd brought on board, and spending long hours in secret meetings with the general; from which he would emerge in a sour, dark mood, muttering profanities under his breath. Near had deduced, by the time they took to port in Northern Virginia, that Matt quite hated General Whitman, even though he continued to refer to him as his friend, "Danny-boy". Near understood that Matt's use of the term 'friend' was more of a code than anything literal. Near wondered if he considered _anyone_ a literal friend, or if they were all merely contacts to be used later. Near wondered if Matt was really just as lonely as he had been.

Even now, as Near stood observing the hacker speak to Crew Chief Denvers on the foremost deck of the _Wasp_, Matt seemed only concerned with expanding his network.

"Thank you, again, Chief Denvers," Matt was saying to the elder man. "In the future, I would be happy to consider you a _friend_."

Denvers raised one salt-and-pepper brow. "Well, if you'd go to bat for all your friends like you did with _that_ one--" Denvers lifted his chin in Near's direction. "--Then I would be more than happy to be on that list."

Matt smiled benignly and patted the Chief on his shoulder. The general, who had been speaking to another ranking official on the other side of the deck, approached the hacker with sure strides. Near watched Matt's entire demeanor stiffen, and his face morphed from benevolent to a contemptuous, dark glower. General Whitman dismissed the Crew Chief, who saluted and left, and leaned in to whisper something to Matt. The hacker's mouth thinned and he closed his eyes briefly before retorting something back to him. General Whitman laughed and turned to approach Near. He proffered his hand, but then dropped it when he realized Near had no intention of shaking it.

"Hm." General Whitman straightened and tugged on the bottom hem of his uniform, decorated brightly over his right breast with numerous bars and stripes. His smile never faltered. Near decided he didn't much like this man either. "Well, it was a pleasure having you aboard, sir."

"I do not rank above you," Near stated plainly, raising one hand to twirl his hair around a finger and carrying Mello's urn with the other. General Whitman watched the movement with intelligent hazel eyes.

"Well, that's a matter for some debate, as far as I'm concerned," the general replied pleasantly.

"I do not react to flattery." Near stared into the general's face, seeing Matt cover his mouth to hide a smile out of the corner of his eye.

The smile tightened a bit on General Whitman's face. "Indeed. Either way, rest assured that should you need anything further--"

"I no longer require your services, General."

The smile was definitely forced now. "Well. Happy traveling, then." With that, General Whitman glanced once at Matt--who wouldn't meet his eyes for fear of laughing outright--and then walked past them both, his stance a good deal more rigid than before.

"That was brilliant," Matt said, coming forward and nudging Near lightly with one shoulder.

"Thank you," Near said simply. He released the lock of hair twined around his index finger and lightly touched Matt's hair with his fingertip. The hacker had trimmed his hair and his face was smooth and clean-shaven. Near liked that he could see his eyes. He looked more like he used to, back when they were children. "Better."

Matt's head ducked slightly as he tried to hide his shy grin. "Thanks," he said, grasping the large goggles dangling from about his neck and situating them over his nose. Then he reached out and drew Near's military cap lower over his face. "Let's go."

~*~

They had driven well into Maryland before Matt pulled the rental that had been supplied to them into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant and turned off the ignition. Across the street was a car dealership. Matt instructed for Near to wait in the car while he purchased a new vehicle. They had decided that the car the general had given them would most likely be bugged and had driven thus far in complete silence. Within the hour, they were eating greasy hamburgers and continuing up the 5 in a brand new Mercedes.

"You hate the general." They were well into Pennsylvania before Near decided to break their companionable silence.

Matt glanced askance at him, exhaling a lungful of smoke out the window. "Yeah. I sure do."

"Why?"

"Because he's evil, Near. He's a war-monger and smart enough to do whatever he wants."

"Like Kira?"

Matt nodded, taking another drag off his cigarette. Near noticed his left hand was shaking. "Just without a Death Note. And God save us if he ever got his hands on one."

"Then why do you associate with him?"

Matt frowned, his right hand tightening on the wheel. "I don't make a regular thing of it, Near. Danny-boy is reserved for emergencies only. Your well-being turned into an emergency situation--or had that somehow slipped past you?"

Near felt the guilt burn in his chest again, and he looked away. When he didn't seem about to say anything else, Matt turned on the radio. They were on the Massachusetts border before Near spoke again.

"Where are we going?"

Matt coughed and lit another cigarette. "Boston."

"Those things will most assuredly kill you."

Matt sent a wry glance Near's direction. "Not before you do."

Near pursed his lips and crossed his arms indignantly. "Why Boston?" he muttered, looking for the entire world like a sullen child. Matt grinned a little and then returned his eyes to the road.

"I need to visit a friend."

"Another friend."

"Mmhhmm."

"And then we go to Panama?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"What is this? Twenty questions?"

"They are perfectly relevant."

Matt sighed, exhaling smoke as he did so. "Well...we could take a boat. Probably a lot safer than an airport, seeing as how you freaked out the last time."

"A boat." Near brought his knee up and rested his chin on it, silently appreciating that Matt was now including him on their travel plans. "Private."

Matt glanced at him side-long. "How about a cruise? You ever been on a cruise before?"

Near looked back at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. "No."

"They're spectacular," Matt said with another grin, a flash of white teeth. "All you do is eat and sleep."

"Sounds relaxing." Near shifted in his seat, trying to ease the ache in his shoulder.

"Very."

Near nodded and closed his eyes. "Sounds wonderful."

Beside him, Matt's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Near?"

"Hm?"

"Is there...is there anything I need to know about Abu Ghraib?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Near concentrated on his breathing, keeping it slow and even. He heard words shouted in Lebanese, the rank of his freezing cell invaded his nostrils, and the ghost of pain caused shivers to run the length of his spine, ending in an acute burn around his right shoulder blade. Near swallowed audibly and curled even tighter in on himself, turning to face the window. "No."

Matt read the detective's body language, heartbreakingly aware of the signs of trauma, and decided not to pry.

Near woke with a start, feeling the car jostle as it bumped over the gravel driveway. He blinked rapidly, wondering when he had managed to fall asleep. Rubbing his eyes, he barely had time to straighten and take in the charming two story, egg shell blue house on an expansive three acre lot before Matt parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Stay here," he ordered in a low voice and left the car.

Near bolted upright at Matt's tone. He recognized it. He'd heard it before, in Berlin, in Japan, in Garden Tomb when they were being attacked by Hezbollah. Low and dangerous--Matt was angry.

There was a man approaching the car with a welcoming smile--and a not-so-welcoming crow bar dangling from his right hand.

"Matty," the man greeted. Near thought he looked familiar. He was older, perhaps closing in on forty, but younger than the general. Mustache, brown hair and eyes, athletic build, walked like a soldier...

As Matt closed in on him, he spread his hands as if to embrace the man. "Hi Joe," he said pleasantly. "How are you?"

Joe slowed, gazing at Matt's face suspiciously. They were familiar enough to read each other's expressions. Suddenly, faster than Near was able to follow, Matt had sent Joe reeling backwards, the crow bar now in his possession, and followed him down. Near struggled with his seat belt, trying to unbuckle it as Matt brought the crow bar up to Joe's face, straddling the man and looking like he was bred to kill.

"Who did you tell?!" Matt shouted at Joe, their noses a mere inch apart.

Joe's brows disappeared on his forehead, and his eyes darted towards Near as he emerged from the car. When Joe brought his eyes back to Matt's face, they were equally as furious. "Why did you bring him here, Matty?!"

"_Who did you tell?_" Matt all but screamed, shaking Joe roughly.

"Matt! Enough!"

They both paused, glancing over at Near again as he walked with sure strides up to the two of them tumbled on the ground.

"The Hezbollah did not think I was L. They were not looking for an albino."

Matt released Joe immediately, who scrambled back and jumped to his feet, shooting daggers with his eyes at Matt as he did so. Matt, however, had eyes only for Near, and he was staring at the detective with an unreadable expression. "You should have told me that."

Near waved his hand dismissively, eyeing the house where he saw a figure peek through an upstairs window and then disappear. "I was unaware that I had been seen by another party." Near turned again and regarded "Joe", who stood some distance away from Matt and looked rather comically confused. Abruptly, Matt turned to Joe and Joe turned to Near. Then Joe said: "How's your head? There was a nasty bump there the last time I saw you."

"Berlin," Near said, realizing this man must have aided Matt's escape from England with his unconscious self in tow. Joe nodded, and then winced when a shriek tore through the air.

"_Matty!_"

A girl, not quite a teenager, not quite a child, burst from the house and ran at breakneck speed towards Matt, who caught her laughing. "Alexa, princess, how are you?"

Joe was still staring at Near while the detective stared in fascinated horror at Matt twirling the girl-child around. Another side of Matt the detective had not seen in a long, long time.

Another female emerged from the house, wiping her hands on a towel. She had a strong jaw, a wealth of black hair, streaked becomingly with gray, and intelligent blue eyes. The wife, Near presumed.

"Oh, hello, Matty," the woman called from the porch. She opened the door wider with her foot, and beckoned at them with a tilt of her head. "Joe said you were in Berlin. We didn't expect you back for some time."

"Hi Sarah," Matt said, lifting the girl in arms and settling the bundle of blonde hair and ridiculous pink ribbons on his hip. "We were in town. Sorry for not calling first."

"Well, come in," she ordered in a mock-impatient voice. "I'm letting all the cool air out. Hustle!"

The girl-child, Alexa, chatted animatedly to Matt as they made there way into the house. As they passed Sarah, Matt regarded her with large, dewy eyes. In answer, Sarah swatted him with her towel. "Of course I'll feed you! Get in the damn house!"

~*~

Captain Joe Starks and his family were authentically pleasant, which was a surprise to Near, who did not often have the company of such unassuming people. Despite her incessant chatter, even the girl-child, Alexa, was unabashedly sweet. At some point, Matt had whispered in her ear that "Mr. N"--as they had dubbed Near--enjoyed playing with toys, and she had brought out an entire bin of blocks into the living room. His hands twitching at the sight of them, Near had curled up next to the girl-child and helped her assemble a large castle of blocks while Matt conversed with her parents in the kitchen. They spoke in tones too low to hear, but Near didn't mind. He considered this small kindness a great reprieve from what had proved to be an arduous and stressful journey thus far--even if his girl-child companion talked as if she had never heard of the concept of silence.

"You look funny," she was saying now. "I like your hair though. It's so white!"

Near sighed, biting back the urge to tell her how ridiculous it was for a nine-year old to wear costume jewelry. He fixed a column of blocks she had assembled, making them aligned and straighter. "Technically," he said, "It is an optical illusion that you can see my hair at all." He glanced at her with solemn eyes, noticing that she had become very quiet when Near had decided to speak for the first time in some four hours. "Like polar bears, my hair has no pigment. However, because of its texture, it appears white."

Her big brown eyes somehow became even larger. "You have hair like polar bears?" she breathed.

Near hesitated. "Only in that it has no pigment--"

"I bet it's just as soft as a polar bear's," she overrode him, curling her knees under her and consequently causing a large ruffle of her dress to topple over the column Near had just repaired. "Can I touch it?"

Near watched the blocks fall and scatter over the rug, sighing resignedly. "If you must."

Surprisingly gentle, Alexa ran her fingers through a few tendrils, cooing as she did so. "It _is_ soft! Like my bunny!" Alexa sat back on her heels and Near bent over to recover the fallen blocks. "My bunny's name is Sam. Would you like to meet him?"

"No," he answered, and instantly regretted it at the crestfallen expression Alexa currently wore. "Perhaps later," Near amended.

The girl-child brightened. "Sam likes Matty. Matty's hair is soft too. He's my bestest friend." She smiled and said a bit wistfully: "We're going to get married. Matty said so, when I'm old enough. He said we'll go on the Disney cruise for our honeymoon."

Rich laughter sounded behind them and Alexa straightened, beaming at the figure that stood behind them. Near twisted to see Matt gazing at him with hot eyes, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Isn't that right, Matty?" Alexa pressed.

Matt's cornflower blue eyes flickered over to her and he smiled warmly. "Of course, princess. Unless Prince Charming happens to get to you first."

Alexa giggled absurdly and Near sent Matt a pained look.

Matt laughed again. "Your mother says to wash up for dinner."

It startled Near how quickly the girl-child disappeared, jumping to her feet and dashing down the hall. "Sarah also says to have this mess cleaned up before coming to dinner," Matt said quietly, kneeling beside Near and pulling the bin closer.

"But," Near started to protest, feeling abruptly depressed at the notion of having to put the blocks away. Matt only grinned, turning his warm gaze back to Near's face. "Trust me; you don't want to get into it with Sarah. She says to clean up the mess, and so then we must."

Near felt the absurd urge to pout, but resisted it, compliantly helping Matt with the blocks. "How long were you standing there?"

Matt's back was turned when he answered, bending low to scoop up an armful of blocks. "Long enough to remember that you're human."

"Hardly the compliment I think you intended it to be," Near retorted, retrieving the lid to the bin and handing it to Matt.

Matt looked at him again, an expression on his face that made Near pause. He liked the warm sensation that spread through his body when Matt looked at him that way. "You're a lot better with kids than you give yourself credit for, Near."

Near reached up and curled a white tendril of hair around his finger. "Do you think it's wise to lead her on like that? About marrying her?"

Matt closed the bin and lifted it, that hot look creeping into his eyes again. "Are you jealous, Near?"

"Supper's ready!" Sarah called from the kitchen, interrupting whatever response Near might have had. The detective was grateful for it too, because he did not think there was anything he could have said that would not have been infantile or foolish. Or downright damning.

Dinner with the Starks was eventful and amusing. While Sarah and Joe chatted and shot strange looks in Near's direction, Alexa batted her eyes at Matt--who ate the spaghetti and meatballs like he was starving. Near spent his time pushing his food around the plate and trying not to smile. Eventually, a very irritated Sarah Starks barked at Near to eat his supper or no more blocks--at which point, Matt and Joe burst out laughing, and Alexa giggled until she fell out of her chair. Oddly, Near felt like the joke was more on Sarah than him, but he ate his food anyway.

Afterwards, Sarah took Alexa by the hand and disappeared into the back of the house, leaving Matt, Joe and Near at the dining room table. Matt stood and began clearing the table, shaking his head at Near when the detective rose to help. When he sat back down, Joe leaned forward.

"I'd appreciate it," Joe said, "If you made sure any of your trouble doesn't follow you here."

"Joe," Matt said from the kitchen, turning at the sink where he was currently rinsing dishes.

"No, he needs to hear this." Joe placed his hands flat on the table, his demeanor relaxed despite the shrewd look that had taken over his gentle brown eyes. "I let Matt around my family because I trust him. He seems to trust you; otherwise he would not have brought you here. But I am not so easily won over. His last guest--"

"_Joe_," Matt warned, returning to the dining room.

Joe pursed his lips and sat back.

"Last guest..?" Near prodded, but to no avail. Matt had the man gridlocked with a very strange, pained look. That cloak of grief Near had seen Matt wear in Japan seemed to cover him again, to fill up the space between him and Joe. Near understood, then. It had been Mello. Matt had brought Mello here...to this safe house where Near assumed Matt felt normal.

"Joe," Near said, causing both their heads to snap up. Both men looked at him. Near addressed only Captain Starks, careful to avoid Matt's gaze. "I have a very different temperament, Captain, I assure you. Whatever means I have at my disposal, they are yours also--should your requirement of them remain within legal bounds."

"What does that mean?" Joe asked sideways at Matt.

"He's saying that as long as you do not break the law, you have his protection," Matt translated, a look of great affection lighting up his cornflower blue eyes.

Joe eyed the detective suspiciously. "Is he always so nice?"

To that, Matt smiled. "No."

Later, Matt showed Near his--their--room. Near realized, upon seeing it, that Matt had stayed here often. It was simple, and barely decorated, but warm and masculine in its few appointments. Of course, there was a large television mounted on the far wall, connected to various different gaming systems. Next to it was a hacker's dream computer system. Multiple flat screens mounted in sequence, multiple modems neatly stacked to one side, four keyboards...and, of course, an ashtray.

On the other side, under the window, was a bed. A single bed. Near sent Matt a questioning look. Matt shrugged and walked over to the closet, grabbing a handful of clothes. "I'll sleep on the floor," he said, tossing the clothes to Near and pointing behind him. "There's the bathroom."

Near turned and obediently went where directed, feeling Matt's eyes burning holes into him as he shut the door behind him.

~*~

Near emerged from the bathroom an hour later, freshly showered and wearing Matt's clothes. Matt fought the urge to gape at him. The detective looked downright sexy, his skin gleaming from the recent shower, the moisture causing Matt's AC/DC shirt to cling nicely against his torso.

It was frustrating and appealing in the same breath that Near had no idea how good he looked. Matt was almost grateful for their misadventure in Israel, because it had served to preoccupy thoughts that had become increasingly troubled at his close proximity with the detective. It had been difficult for him, in Berlin, and later in Japan, to keep his distance, to stay carefully guarded.

Matt wasn't sure if it was because he had been so damnably lonely before deciding to get Near. He hadn't touched anyone since Mello, and that had been over three years ago. And frankly, no one was quite interesting enough to capture his attention. However, Near was plenty interesting, even if a bit insufferable, and...Well, Near had that ability to make Matt remember everything. To remember what it was like when Matt was kind and gentle, when he actually cared about other people, despite how ironic that seemed. Near made him remember Wammy's. And while he loathed that place because of what it had done to Mello, he missed the person he used to be. He was so tired; tired of being hard and mean, tired of being cautious and scheming. Tired of being a soldier. Watari warned him against this, when he chose in. Watari had warned him that it would feel like losing his soul. But he chose in anyway. At that time, so many, many years ago, he had cared that much. He'd forgotten why he cared, over the years, and had settled in to hate Near for what he had become. However, when he was with Near, it was so easy to remember why he had cared enough to chose a lifetime of hard decisions, of half-truths and constant danger. Of cat and mouse and the race for control.

And Near didn't want to control him. Matt knew Near. Matt knew that all he wanted was to _understand_ him. And that, Matt thought, was what finally broke him; what finally let him feel for him. Even if the detective was aggravatingly oblivious to it--to everything.

But then, that was sort of part of his charm, Matt supposed. For all his intelligence, Near was adorably naive.

Matt cleared his throat and looked away, busying his restless hands with lighting a cigarette.

"I'm surprised Sarah allows you to smoke in her home," Near stated, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Matt laughed a little, pocketing his lighter and taking a deep, steadying drag. "I'm her favorite." Matt glanced side-long at the detective, watching a drop of water fall from a strand of wet, white hair and roll down Near's throat. "Even so, I'm only allowed to in this room." Matt dragged his eyes away and kicked at the bin by his feet. "Speaking of Sarah, she said you could, you know..."

"That's very kind of her," Near said, finally approaching Matt. He knelt down by Matt's feet and removed the lid. Matt bit his lip briefly, reigning in every ounce of self-control, and retreated a step before seating himself on the floor as well. Matt watched, a small smile curving his mouth, as the detective rummaged through the bin for blocks, weighing each in his hand before selecting two and placing them carefully on the floor.

"Have the Starks adopted you?" Near inquired abruptly. He remained bent over his project, nimble, careful fingers selecting each block and assembling them meticulously.

Matt liked the way the wet strands of Near's hair fell in his face, and the way the detective tossed his head from time to time to remove the locks from his eyes. "I suppose you could say that," Matt answered after a time, crushing out his cigarette into a nearby ashtray.

"What would you say?" Near asked, glancing up at Matt with dark eyes.

Matt peered at him through the shadows, just barely able to make out the light blue iris lining the large pupils of Near's eyes. "I would say they are very good friends."

Near tucked an errant lock behind his ear, but the slippery tendril escaped immediately. Near watched Matt's eyes follow the movement. "Are they friends like Akhish...or friends like me?"

The comparison startled Matt, and he sat back blinking. "Friends like you, definitely."

Near's face became immobile, unreadable, his eyes even darker. "Do you leave the Starks for years at a time?"

There was an incredible weight to that question, and they both knew it. Despite Near's inflectionless tone, Matt heard the pain and loneliness in the words. The regret. The bitterness. A grieving that Matt hadn't known Near had experienced--didn't know he cared enough to experience it. Without an explanation, Matt had walked away from Wammy's and Near never saw him again...until he had forced himself to watch Matt die on a security camera feed. They had not been friends, not really. So, in all fairness, Matt owed Near nothing. But they could have been friends. If Matt had tried. If Near had tried. If Mello had been able to stand the notion of it.

If L hadn't made it a goddamn competition.

"Near." Matt reached out and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He met Near's unreadable stare and tried not to wince at the accusation there, the vulnerability too. "I'm sorry."

"_Why?_" Near's face seemed rigid now, as if fighting the urge to look away. "Why did you do it?"

Why? Another loaded question. Why did Matt leave? Why did he walk away without saying goodbye? Why did he tell no one where he was going? Mello had asked him the very same things, wanted the very same answers.

Matt's voice broke. "Please. Please don't ask me questions I'm not ready to answer." _Because it would change everything. It would mean giving everything up to you. _

Near did look away then, resigning himself to the fact that Matt still had secrets that he wouldn't share. Secrets that he could share, but refused. Near tried to pull his hand away but Matt tightened his fingers. Funny how situations turn in on themselves, how déjà vu can punch you in the gut and walk away laughing.

"Please, Near." Matt's eyes were haunted, pained. He felt desperate, feeling Near slip away from him again. It's so difficult to read him sometimes. "Please." Matt didn't know if he was welcome, or if it would mean the end of this fragile thing they had started, but he took the plunge anyway. Matt used his grip on Near's hand to pull him forward, and he kissed him.

Matt was slow and gentle, feeling Near tense up and wondering if he would cry. Matt hadn't cried in a long time, but he felt the familiar ache in his chest when Near didn't respond, the detective's mouth immobile and cold beneath his lips. Matt pulled away and averted his eyes. He released Near's hand. He muttered an apology, not quite sure later the exact phrasing of the words.

Matt made to stand up when Near's hand caught his sleeve and pulled him back. Near's eyes were wider than usual when Matt looked at him, and Matt could not possibly ascertain the detective's rapid thoughts. But Near's hand moved from his sleeve, to the fabric just over Matt's heart, and then up to rest on the side of Matt's throat. Matt was convinced Near could feel the hammer of his heart beat, the jump in his pulse. Then there was a shift, a slight pressure in Near's fingertips on Matt's throat, and the hacker lowered his head again.

This time Near responded, pressing back, mimicking Matt's movements with his lips. Matt did not need to prod to gain access to Near's mouth, he opened it on instinct and met the hacker's tongue experimentally. Near pressed closer, and closer, until Matt groaned, dug his fingers into the wet wealth of Near's hair and tugged it back, allowing him to kiss the detective deeper, faster, more urgently.

And then it shattered. It was like someone threw a crystal vase at the wall by their heads. Near jerked away, breathing an astonished: "_You were lovers!_"

Matt felt stunned, and his response came out like a laugh that cracked and ultimately failed. "What?"

"You were lovers," Near repeated, his revelation causing him to tremble. "You and Mello. Is that why you did it? Is that why you faked your death? Were you trying to _leave_ him?"

"What the _fuck_, Near!" Exasperated, Matt got his feet under him and stood. "That's the kind of shit you keep to yourself, you know that? You don't just blurt out--when--"

"Is it true?" Near pressed.

"No. Yes! Fuck you, Near, no!" Matt growled and shoved his hands roughly through his hair, frustrated within an inch of his sanity. "Jesus fucking Christ. Yes, we were lovers. No, I did not fake my death so I could leave him. That's fucking ridiculous and, frankly, it's none of your goddamn business."

Near raised his knee and hugged it close to his chest. Matt was not fooled by the childish display. He knew that the detective was only readying himself for an onslaught. "Did you murder those police officers in Japan?" Near asked coldly.

"What? No! I've never killed anyone in Japan. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Did K do it?" Near charged on ruthlessly. "Did you ask her to?"

Matt felt something cold sink to the pit of his belly. "Why are you asking me about K?" Matt demanded in a dangerous tone. He was _not_ supposed to know about K.

"Did K do it?" Near repeated.

"Near, why are you asking me about K?" Matt balled his hands into fists, trying to steady himself against the rage that boiled just beneath the surface. "You're not supposed to know about K. How do you know, Near?"

Near paused, his eyes flickering as he battled some internal struggle. Finally, he said: "I spoke with Halle. She had had the body reexamined. I know that K helped you fake your death, Matt."

Red was beginning to creep into the edges of his vision. Matt did not really want to know the answer to his next question, but he had to ask it anyway. "_When_ did you speak to Halle?"

Another pause, but to his credit, Near's gaze never wavered. The detective was many things, but a coward was not one of them. "At Yisheth's home, in Jerusalem."

The rage that slammed against him turned abruptly into another emotion. Matt had never felt this one before, and couldn't quite name it. He sank to his knees as he felt that ache in his chest again, the sting behind his eyes. He grasped Near by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. "Near," he breathed, his voice ragged as he bit back a sob. "Do you understand what you did? That's how the Hezbollah found you."

Near's expression never changed. He did not even blink. Matt searched his eyes anxiously even as his heart sank and the rage returned. Near did not waiver. "You did it on purpose," Matt murmured, anguish enunciating every word. Matt's shoulders sagged and he sat back on his heels, releasing Near and feeling dejected and completely lost. "You did it to force my hand. To force me to reveal who Danny-boy was, didn't you? How could you do that?"

"I had to know."

Matt tried to breathe against the anger that consumed him, the hurt, the betrayal. "You had to know." Matt closed his eyes, trying, but failing, to calm himself. "You had to know."

"I did not think you would come yourself."

"Do you think that makes it okay?" Matt exploded, slamming his fist onto the floor. "I sent an entire _battalion_ of soldiers and millions of dollars in weaponry into Iraq to save you, Near! Those people could've died. _You_ could have died. For what? One of your little mind games? _What's wrong with you?_"

"I had to know."

"They _tortured _you, Near!" Matt shouted.

"All knowledge is worth having," Near said in a dead, hollow voice, as if he was quoting some dusty, old book.

Matt bit back a scream and swept his arm out, knocking his fist into Near's castle of blocks and consequently scattering the blocks all over the room. "I sold Danny-boy an entire _year_ of my _life_ to get you out!"

"I didn't know." A pause. "Are you going to hit me?"

"As much as I'd like to, no." Matt took in a shaky breath and stood, glaring at the detective for all he was worth.

"Why not?" Near murmured. "Mello would have."

That's when Matt lost it. "No, _fuck you_; you don't get to talk to me about Mello! How _dare_ you? Yeah, the secret's out, I like you. Big fucking deal. I like you, _but I loved Mello_. And you don't hold a fucking candle to Mello. So don't talk about him like you knew him. You don't know anything about Mello. You were always too busy thinking up ways to fuck people over." With that, Matt left the room, slamming the door behind him.

~*~

Near had no filter. There was this film thoughts needed to process through before the human mind selected which ones to voice, and which ones to keep to itself. Near didn't have one of those; and he cursed himself for it.

His timing was deplorable, and frankly Near was psychologically ill-equipped to deal with what Matt had just...

Near had no predisposition for sexual orientation. He barely had enough social skills to manage the remaining members of the SPK into doing his bidding. He had no special gift for dealing with other people, so bothering himself with thoughts of who and what kind of person he could be attracted to seemed a moot point at best.

So, _of course..._

Of course he was going to blurt out the first rational thought that sprung to his mind...and every single one after that.

When Matt slammed the door behind him, Near knew he'd made a mistake. He'd handled it badly. True, he knew that that particular conversation wasn't going to go very well, but Near didn't have to bring it up after...after...

Near sprang to his feet and followed Matt out into the hall. However, what greeted him when he stepped from the room was not the furious hacker; it was Sarah wagging a finger at him with a peculiar expression on her face as she peered down the hall. They both jumped a little when the front door slammed. Shortly after, the door opened, Joe's voice floated up to them, calling Matt's name, and then closed again behind the captain. Within seconds, sounds of crying emerged from the opposite end of the dark hall. Sarah looked exasperated, and sent Near a dark look.

"I'm coming sweetheart," she called to Alexa, who had apparently been awoken from the noise.

Near made to step around her, but she grasped him by his sleeve and roughly tugged him in front of her. "Oh, no you don't," she said. "You're coming with me." She even went so far as to slap him lightly on the back of the head as he led the way to Alexa's room. He cast a glare over his shoulder at her, but she only frowned and swatted him again. Near decided to suffer it silently.

He stood in the doorway of Alexa's room, leaning against the frame and twirling his hair furiously as Sarah tucked her daughter back into bed, gave her a glass of water, and sweet-talked her back to sleep. Once Alexa drifted off, Sarah rose and grasped Near by the elbow, walking him downstairs and forcing him to take a seat at the kitchen table. After making sure Near wouldn't move, Sarah busied herself in the kitchen making tea. Near wasn't sure how she knew he liked Earl Grey with honey instead of lemon, but wasn't in the mood to ask. He mumbled a quick thanks and turned his ear back to the ruckus outside.

They could hear Joe and Matt speaking rapidly to each other, and the crunch of gravel beneath their feet suggested they were pacing--or more accurately, Matt was pacing and Joe was following him. Though they made an exceptional amount of noise, it was difficult to discern their words and after ten minutes or so, Near gave up and turned his attention to Sarah.

She was gazing at him patiently, warming her hands with her own mug of tea. When he looked at her, Sarah began to speak. "I have a gift too," she said with a wry twist of her lips. "Not quite as brilliant to get into where you two were raised, but a gift nonetheless."

Near did not like her allusion to knowing about Wammy's, but only raised a brow at her and nodded for her to continue.

"I can remember exact dates, of special occurrences concerning my family, myself, and those I care about," she said, the twinkle in her dark blue eyes saying much about how she knew that it wouldn't impress him. Then her eyes shifted, becoming even darker, more solemn. "On September fifth, nineteen ninety-six, my husband returned home from an overseas mission. At the time, he was already a renowned fighter pilot, a prodigy fresh out of aviation school. I remember him being upset. He didn't want to tell me, because he wasn't supposed to. You know how those military codes go, secrecy and what not..." Sarah took a sip of tea, her eyes staring off into the memory. "Of course, eventually, he told me that his plane was acting strange over Afghani aerospace, that the coordinates had gotten jumbled and he accidentally managed to get himself into enemy territory. A land-missile was launched against his jet, but he couldn't maneuver away from it. There was some problem--he said his plane simply would not respond. Then he tells me that the mother board flashed really bright and started to blink and make noises at him. The jet was flying on its own. It was like someone else was flying it for him."

Sarah glanced at Near briefly. "Anyway, the jet managed to cause the missile to fly straight into some mountain and then flew all the way back to base on its own. Naturally, when Joe explained that it wasn't him, a full scale investigation was launched. We were harassed for weeks on end by the CIA, the FBI, hounded relentlessly. On April fourteenth, the following year, there was a blackout at Langley. We were told later that a phrase appeared on every screen saying _'i did it ~m'_ in all lower case. The investigation was redirected and we were left alone."

Near blinked slowly, his mind working quickly. That was around the time he had arrived at Wammy's. Matt had only been six years old.

Sarah took another sip of her tea and continued. "You can imagine how strained Joe and I were. We decided to move off base and purchase a house in my mother's name. We were thinking about kids at the time, and didn't want the government in our business. It was barely after we got this house that we began getting strange emails from a person claiming to be 'm', asking us if we were okay, and sorry for scaring us, and promises to keep us safe. Whoever this little 'm' was, he certainly felt sorry for his little game--even though Joe maintains that the interference happened after his jet had begun acting up. He insists that 'm' saved his life.

"In either case, Joe and 'm' became sort of like friends, conversing through emails. Joe believed that 'm' was a child because he couldn't spell for shit, even though I didn't agree at first." Sarah smiled to herself. "Until I saw the emails myself. He really was a terrible speller. The child told us he was in a genius breeding camp, and that he was in line to become the smartest man in the world, but that he said it was a silly thing to aspire to, and that he didn't want it. When a third child showed up, he told us that he began training for something else. He said that he didn't want to be enemies with his best friend, and that this was a better way to help out. This, I believe, was...ah, yes. January twenty-first, nineteen ninety-eight."

Near nodded to himself. This was indeed around the time Matt had begun to disappear for private lessons.

Sarah was staring off into the distance again. "In two thousand and four, the emails became less frequent, and then stopped altogether. On New Years Eve, a fifteen year old boy knocks on our door and asks if he could stay for a while. He said he was 'm'. Found out the next day that I was pregnant with Alexa." She smiled wistfully at Near. "We let him stay of course, and gave him his own room. We would have adopted him, but he refused. He said it would have been an insult to his real mother. Which stung, of course, but when he told me how she died, I understood."

Sarah put down her mug and reached for a napkin and a black marker. "It took him forever to trust us enough to give a name. Seeing Alexa for the first time was what really did him in. He was afraid she wouldn't know him if he didn't have a name. He called himself 'Matt' and Alexa's first word was 'Matty'." Sarah glowed at the memory, twirling the black marker in her fingers. "They were inseparable--until Matt started leaving for months a time. His only explanation was that he had responsibilities and that he needed to train. In the spring of two thousand and eight, he become exceptionally irritable, locking himself in his room for weeks at a time and muttering to himself about how people would never listen to him, and that it would be so much easier to team up. And that Mello was a fool."

Near thought of the incident with Mello and the Mafia, knowing all too well what Matt had been agitated about.

"It was when he disappeared that summer," Sarah said, remembering, "and returned in August with a nineteen year old with his face half melted off that I began to suspect that Matty was in the fight against Kira. It just suddenly came together for me. When I mentioned it to Joe, I realized he had already known, and that they had not told me to protect me." Sarah's mouth twisted again, something dangerous glittering in her eyes. "Of course, I had it out with the two of them. They haven't kept me in the dark since."

Sarah uncapped the marker and began drawing on the napkin, slowly and deliberately. "Matty pleaded with us to let the other boy stay. He said he was his best friend, and that Kira would kill him if he went to the hospital. I can never really say no to Matty." She stopped speaking suddenly, her fingers stilling over the napkin and her eyes becoming hard as glass. "I wish I hadn't let that boy in my house. He had a filthy mouth, and constantly suckered Matty into screaming matches. Sometimes, it made Alexa afraid of Matty, because he seems so dangerous when he's upset." Sarah shook her head. "Children don't understand things the way adults do, they see things simply. Anger is anger, danger is danger. She didn't know none of it was directed at her. It got so bad that I forced both of them to sleep in the shed." Sarah looked utterly unapologetic as she returned to drawing on the napkin.

"Four days later, he was gone and Matty was broken-hearted," Sarah continued. "He moped for weeks, crying at night and beating the bag outside until it poured out sand during the day. He wouldn't eat, barely slept. Finally I pulled him aside and told him to go after him, or that I would kill him before he could do it to himself." Sarah mouth thinned for a brief moment. "He left the next day. I didn't see him again until September twenty-seventh, two thousand-eleven." Sarah looked suddenly on the verge of tears. "He looked like he had been the target at a shooting range." She swallowed, calming herself and continued to draw. "He said that the worst was over, that everyone was dead. Everyone except the third, and that he had to get back to work. He posed as a military vet so he could get the physical therapy treatment he needed, and before I knew it, he was disappearing on us again, over and over...And then he sits Joe and I down and says that he found something, that he can't open it, that its personal and he can't give details. He tells us that he has to go back and get the third child. That he needed Joe to help him. And that afterwards he would be away and didn't know when he'd be back, or if he would ever come back at all."

Sarah took a deep shuddering breath and pushed the napkin over to Near. He glanced once at it, seeing it to be a calligraphic "M".

Sarah took her tea, now cold, and drank it down in one gulp. "I assume you know what an ambigram is," she said, watching him carefully. "Generally, it's meant for an entire word, but you get the idea..."

Near took the napkin and turned it around. His heart stopped beating, his breath caught in his throat. 'W', it read.

"I hope you understand, now, that Matty is utterly devoted and loyal to you," Sarah murmured. "Has been, for a very long time. And it is a mother's duty to make sure he isn't taken for granted. Do I make myself clear?"

Near raised hollow eyes up to meet hers. He felt bone-weary, ashamed, and very, very tired.

_I am no one's Watari_, Matt had said.

_No, but you trained to be my W_, Near thought. _Why?_

Why?

**To be continued...**

**A/N**: I know that Near's decision to provoke his abduction by the Hezbollah might hit some of you as...asshole-ish? Effing crazy? Totally nuts and uncalled for? Yes, and no. I felt that based on Near's behavior with Kira during the series makes this decision in-character, despite the heavy consequences. Allow me to explain:

My initial reasoning for Near's behavior in the recent chapters was based off of his unusual decision to face off with Kira before having all of his facts straight. He knew there was another Note, he had considered it, but he did not know where it was, or who had it. He did not feel that it was enough of a reason not to have his stand-off with Kira. He did not put enough stock in his own life to make him hesitate. He went for it, and won out only because Mello and Matt were able to reveal that there was another Note through their actions with Takada. Whether or not Mello and Matt did the things they did because they were trying to warn Near is a matter for some debate, but I feel that Mello insinuates this with his comment when he first kidnaps Takada.

After further note-sharing with Doumi, the wonderful and ever-magnanimous beta for this chapter, we agreed on more things that would justify Near's actions here, for better or for worse. We feel that Near enjoyed baiting Kira, one-upping him with use-less information that Light would be able to do nothing with, just to gauge a reaction, to try and comprehend him. So, in this since, when challenged, Near takes the challenge to a new level.

We've seen, in two large instances with Near in the canon, where Near is more than willing to put himself at risk for the sake of the mission, and by extension, does not value his own life above the search for knowledge.

While I agree with Doumi that it is unlikely Near would put himself at risk without some sort of back-up, I can argue two points. One, that Near very much thought he had back up--and that back-up was Matt himself. He understood, to some extent, that Matt would at least try and retrieve him. Though, I do not believe Near ever calculated that they would take him to Abu Ghraib and torture him for information. I believe that Near more likely thought he was going to be taken for ransom, that what little time he had would be in transit before being shoved in front of a camera. Two, Near is not used to the real world. And what he would logically dissemble in a safe room surrounded by bodyguards may not be as clear as what he would be thinking during his mad dash through Israel, especially after being attacked in a war zone and his companion being injured. I like to think that Near sort of panicked. That his drive to know what the hell was going on overrode his desire to stay safe and to think logically.

I think we can all agree that Near understands that he messed up, that when he pushed this time, everything toppled on top of him. It's nice to be able to write characters making mistakes, no matter how intelligent they are. All you have to do is take them out of what they know. And for both Matt and Near, they are in that place right now.

I hope you enjoyed the smooch scene, and the little surprises that came after. I'm already thinking about what to write for the next chapter, so rl-willing I should have another update posted shortly.

Yours,

Gloria

**Kermitfries**: Have I mentioned that I adore your username? Makes me laugh every time I see it. Thanks for your review! I hope you enjoyed the update!


	10. Chapter 10 Interlude

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Haunted - Interlude  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: Quite a few, actually. But if you've been reading with us this far, it's hardly relevant.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi readers! I had planned this chapter when I first began formulating this story--and yet, it still felt different enough to me--in perspective--that I decided to call it an "Interlude". We step outside the normal narrative here, and explore Matt's perspective with a little more depth and feeling. It is raw, heartbreaking material, so I encourage you to re-read the "Alternate Warnings". Also, within the next few chapters, I will have to change the rating of this story to MA. If you haven't marked this story yet, and wish to continue reading with us without having to search for it, then it's probably going to be a good idea to bookmark it somehow.

I have a few dedications to make: "Haunted--Interlude" is dedicated to **Doumi**, for her beautiful, breath-taking fanart of Scattering Ashes--which you can find here "**duomi[DOT]deviantart[DOT]com/art/Scattering-Ashes-107229794**"--and for her constant, grueling, bluntly honest support, as well as her saint-like patience with my single-minded pestering. "Interlude" is also dedicated to **Saint Sentiment**, for giving good critiques and sticking with this story from the very beginning, her consistency and support has been inspirational and thought-provoking, and I'm very grateful to have her as a reader. Thirdly, "Haunted" is dedicated to **Nebo**, whose past two reviews were moving and insightful, honest and thorough. Thank you so much for your words.

And finally, this chapter is dedicated--with a basket full of warm, chocolate chip cookies--to **inuyashalove04**, for being the only one to rightly guess Mello's cameo!

And, of course, to everyone who reads this, and doubly so for those who review. It's always humbling, and I'm always grateful. Happy Holidays to you and yours, and here's to 2009!

Yours,

Gloria

P.S. For the curious, I created an on-line playlist of music that I listen to while hammering out chapters for Scattering Ashes. You can find it here " **youtube[DOT]com/view_play_list?p=CE9B0A85C727E11A** ". Consider it my Christmas present to all of you, for sticking with me this far.

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Ten

**Haunted - Interlude**

"Damyata: _The boat responded_

_Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar_

_The sea was calm, your heart would have responded_

_Gaily, when invited, beating obedient_

_To controlling hands..."_

**~From What the Thunder Said, "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot**

July 2nd, 2013

Grief is a tricky thing.

There is no real way around it; no handbook to teach a person how to deal. It engulfs, sometimes. For some, it holds its breath and then sideswipes a person when they're not looking. In others, it takes the wretched form of guilt. No matter how it attacks, and inevitably it will, in one form or another, it does so with a vengeance. And if someone tells you there is something you can do or say or think that will make it go away by force, they are either lying to you, or selling something.

For Matt, it was a hole; a deep, festering wound in the center of his chest. Some days, it burned merely, and was almost bearable. Most days it was a piercing pain, reminding him of the gaping thing where his heart used to be. It hurt worse than the bullet wounds, or the dagger that was just recently thrust into his side. It was more painful than the therapy he'd endured to get his arm working again, after the bones had been shattered from his run in with the Japanese police force. Hell, it hurt even more than leaving Mello and Near to fend for themselves while Kira still raged his war on morality. And that had really hurt. That had been agony.

Matt was not able to shake it, or fill it up, or replace it with something else. He thought he knew why. He thought it was because the one who had devoured him, the one who had carved the hole in the first place, quite enjoyed peeking through it. He thought it was good fun, Matt was sure, to jeer and wiggle his thin fingers through it, to crawl through the hole and torment him. The hole was his gateway, you see, from the other side. It was how Mello was able to always find him, no matter how far he ran, how long he hid, no matter how loud he screamed or how violently he shuddered. Mello found the light from the physical world through the guilt-edged hole in Matt's chest, and saw fit to torture the one who betrayed him by using it for his own means--which, for all intents and purposes, usually meant wicked, sadistic scheming.

Matt knew he was somewhat insane. It was only fair, he thought at times, because Mello had definitely been crazy, and Near was certainly off the standard sanity kilter. Even L had been a little left of left field. Insanity was a lot like grief, in the sense that it could sideswipe you suddenly without warning or preamble. For Matt, it had been when he first answered Mello aloud--almost thirteen months after Mello had been killed by the Death Note, and burnt to a cinder in some church. Matt knew he had snapped then, and gave himself over to it wholly. He had laughed until he cried, and then sobbed until he heaved, vomiting everything from his insides except for the organs that kept him alive. After that, he tried his very best to hide it, to smother it in some hidden recess of his being, and only brought it out when he was sure he was alone. Then he would talk to Mello, if only to humor the ghost that trailed him relentlessly.

Matt had often wondered if he could find a way to close the hole, to banish Mello back to nothingness, would he be sane again? Could he settle down somewhere, maybe start a career like a normal person? Maybe even get a dog, and some stupid plant, and then go work out at the local gym after he got home from work and showered? He doubted it. A normal life would probably make him crazier than Mello had been. And certainly much more of a troglodyte than Near. He'd be useless as a normal human being. He was certain that he would lose his sense of feeling if Mello left him, because he felt so much when he was around.

It wasn't natural, Matt was sure of that, to almost _want_ his haunt to stay. Not so much because he was lonely, the Starks were definitely as close to a good family as he was ever going to get; caring, generous, and the rest.

...But more because of love.

For most people, love was a..._nice_ thing. Matt had heard that it was euphoric, all-encompassing happiness and sweet, sweet longing all bundled up into one fuzzy package. Matt wanted to give every single one of those people the finger.

For Matt it was never a _nice_ thing. Even when Mello had been alive, it had been angry, aggressive, violent. Possessive. Bitter. Always painful, always hard. Always a crossroads, choose love or integrity. Sometimes, there had been calm, and most times there had been a sense of wholeness, of something completed or fitted perfectly together. Never quite _nice_.

Mello felt fiercely. That was the first thing Matt had loved him for. Nothing diluted, nothing false. What you saw was what you got. With Mello, everything was pure, driven, and powerful. Matt appreciated that. Matt did not like lies, even though he told them enough to sometimes forget what the truth even was. Matt appreciated that, with Mello, he would never have to dissemble, never have to guess.

Now...

Now, it was different. The afterlife had muted Mello, and it frustrated Matt. Mello played with him, kept him guessing, kept him yearning, and Matt never, ever got the answer right to any of the ghost's riddles.

That stupid fucking will, to begin with...just getting it open was an unbelievable hassle. Matt still hadn't figured out who the hell Benjamin was. And the whole thing about scattering ashes? What the shit, man? Mello still refused to give Matt a straight answer on that. And _Near_...

Hell, Near was a riddle all by himself. Matt wondered if Mello's involvement of Near was just some rotten parody at his expense--especially now that the little prick went and got himself tortured by Hezbollah for some freakish mind game...

Matt hated riddles. Right now, Matt hated Mello. Matt had always hated Mello as much as he loved him. Mello was able to do that to a person...because he loved like he hated. And hated like he loved.

Fiercely.

Matt was pacing. He liked to pace. It let the rage burn out through the movement of his legs, hips and feet--so as not to be tempted to instigate anything with his hands. Matt's hands had long-since become deadly things. He had to be very careful with them, and was committed to never use them while he was irate. It would be a stupid thing to do. Of course, Mello would find it delightedly funny if he had used his hands to throttle Near twenty minutes ago. But that was just how Mello was. A cheerfully sadistic bastard.

"Honestly, Matt--" Mello was saying.

"Matty, I just don't want you to do--" Joe was saying.

"--I don't understand why you don't just leave him here." Mello smiled wickedly. "Let him find his own way home."

"--anything stupid," Joe finished, pacing behind him. "I know you're upset, but--"

"It's time he grew up anyway."

"--maybe when you think about it calmly--"

"I told you he wasn't worth it."

"--you might find he felt he didn't--

"Didn't I?" Mello pressed.

"--feel he had any--"

"He's useless with things his mind cannot comprehend."

"--choice in the matter. Matty? Come on--"

"He's useless for you. He could never understand you."

"Matty, look at me. You need--"

"You're wasting your time."

"--to calm down. Please, just stop--"

"He's not worth it--"

"It was never about _him_," Matt hissed suddenly, whirling around. His eyes blazed, fixed intently on the hazy figure lounging lazily against the porch swing. Mello paused, waiting, fingering the beaded rosary around his throat. "I made that promise for _you_. But _you weren't good enough_."

Mello frowned, the corner of his mouth pulling down on the side that wasn't gnarled by his scars. "That's not very nice at all, _Matty_."

Matt snorted, tossing his head back and beseeching the skies with his tormented cornflower blue eyes. "I hate that word. 'Nice.'"

"Did he taste _nice_, Matt? How did he smell? _Nice?_ Was he _nicely_ warm?"

Matt closed his eyes. "Stop it."

"Do you think he would drudge up enough kindness to touch you back one day? To give you what you miss now that I'm gone?"

"Stop," he pleaded.

"I don't think so," Mello mused, combing his leather-gloved fingers through his jagged yellow hair. "He's a think-tank, Matt. He wouldn't know what to do with you. You _feel_ too much."

"Please..."

"He's even less _nice_ than I am--"

"Stop it!" Matt's eyes snapped open, his limbs trembling as he glared at Mello. He was more solid now, a black glow edging his frame against the darkness. Matt gritted his teeth, forcing the next words out through lips that would barely move. "I would never have kissed him if you hadn't put the fucking idea in my head."

He _had_ too, weeks ago, when Near had first put on that stupid fucking red shirt. Mello, deviant even as a ghost, had whispered it into Matt's ear while he was listening to Danny-boy harp at him about his blasted plane.

Mello tilted his head to one side, an amused smile curling his mouth. He regarded the shaking hacker for the briefest moment before turning his focus plainly toward another direction.

A sense of dread settled in the pit of Matt's stomach and he followed Mello's gaze. Joe had fallen silent beside Matt, his face ashen as he watched Matt fall apart at the seams, talking to someone who _wasn't_ there.

"Matty?" Joe took a hesitant step forward, placing the tips of his fingers on Matt's arm. Matt looked into Joe's face resignedly, soaking in every wrinkle, every graying strand of hair, every golden speck in Joe's kind, concerned eyes. Matt wished suddenly that he'd been able, at some point in his relationship with Joe and his family, to find the strength, the courage, to call this man 'Dad'. No one had ever been 'Dad' to Matt. The hacker had considered L, and very quickly had been repulsed by the idea. Watari came next, but only because he had spent so much time with the old man to learn his trade. But Quilish Wammy was only 'Watari' for L, only 'W' for the Lawliet genius who nibbled on sweets like it was going out of style. Matt's own father had been a drunk. He'd seen him only once, the man who had impregnated his mother and disappeared, and it had been during the year after he left Wammy's. His father had been vomiting whiskey and lasagna into a trash can outside of a pool hall. Matt had tracked him down, but immediately lost interest after seeing what he was. He was nothing. He was a little less than regular. And Matt was much more than better. His father did not deserve to know he had a son; he had no right to know he had sired the most intelligent hacker in the world.

Matt was not characteristically self-obsessed, but he certainly wasn't _that_ compassionate either.

But Joe...

Captain Joe Starks, his wife Sarah, and the little one, Alexa, were beautiful people. Matt looked into Joe's eyes and knew that it was probably the last time he would ever see them straight on.

Belatedly, Matt flinched away from Joe's touch, turned on his heel, and strode back into the house. He paused in the kitchen only briefly. His eyes flickered from Near, who sat stiff like a rod at the kitchen table, to Sarah, who looked up from her empty mug of tea, to the calligraphic 'W' sketched on the napkin, and then back to Near.

"Brilliant," Matt muttered as Near dragged his dark eyes up to meet his. Then: "We're leaving."

He left them in the kitchen to stare after him as he sprang lightly up the stairs. He entered his room swiftly and shut the door. Mello was there, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Matt expected him to taunt, but he didn't and kept unnaturally silent.

Matt grabbed a duffle bag and stuffed it absently with clothing. Then he approached his computer center and grabbed a few appliances, a set of speakers, and an extra laptop. Then he thoroughly purged the rest of his network.

When he was finished, he turned and reached for the door knob. Of course, Mello's voice, low and peculiar, drifted over to him, stopping him and making him turn. "I am curious too, you know."

"About what," Matt sighed, his shoulders slumping a little, the hole in his chest stinging and sending waves of aching through the rest of his body.

"Why you did it."

Matt stared at his haunt, a perfect shadow of the Mello that had frightened him, triggered him, possessed him...and still did. His creamy white shoulders stood out from the black leather of his shiny, goth-styled vest and arm sleeves. His long legs wove around themselves comfortably from where he perched on the bed. The beads of his rosary glinted in the lamplight as they swung gently from his throat. The scars were a deeper color than the rest of his skin, rough and beautiful. His jagged yellow hair fell into his piercing green eyes, lidded and dangerous. But everything about him screamed 'curious' and not 'lethal'. It made Matt pause. Sometimes when Mello was only curious, it was okay to be honest. Most times, it was a death trap.

"Because I didn't want you to hurt."

Mello raised one blond brow.

It was...insane. Everything about their intimacy had been painful, even the sex. Mello was not the sort to soften up or slow down at anyone's expense, let alone behest. Matt had been no exception. It was ludicrous for Matt to tip-toe around Mello's feelings on this account; it was never something that took part in their relationship. Mello certainly hadn't, and to his credit, Matt hadn't either. He had always been able to take whatever Mello could dish out.

Until the mafia. Until the Death Note and the death gods and the kidnapping of innocent children. That had been too much for Matt.

But Mello had shifted after the accident that had left him scarred. He had chosen a different route, one that no longer involved the Mafia. And yet Matt...

Matt had chosen.

The hacker watched as the realization dawned across Mello's face. He was worried, a little, why Mello did not look angry.

Matt turned back to the door, but Mello's voice made him stop again. "Will you tell him?"

"I don't know that he deserves it."

"Deserves? Or needs?"

That caused a spasm of pain to jerk through him. Matt's hand tightened on the doorknob. If Near didn't need him, then there was nothing, really, to stop him from throwing himself over a cliff. He'd lost everything on a terrible gamble. Near was the only one left. If Matt wasn't needed, if _he_ was the one who was really useless, then what the fuck was the point?

"Either way, I'm finishing this."

"Really, Matt, they are only ashes."

"It's what you wanted."

"For Near. For you, it was very different."

"Doesn't matter now."

"Seems a little ridiculous to me, forcing someone so apathetic to carry out someone's will."

"If he refuses, I'll do it myself."

"No, you won't."

"Watch me."

"You can't even touch the urn," Mello challenged.

Matt could not find a response that mattered before Mello spoke again. "You must think there's more he can offer."

"Maybe."

"You think so. You would not continue. I am still baffled that you brought him here."

"I am rectifying that mistake now."

"You think he has the capacity to _care_, don't you?" It seemed almost like an accusation.

Matt's voice broke. "He held my hand when we picked the urn. He saved my life in Israel. He killed for me."

"Of course, it must _mean _something. Obviously, he was never interested in how the hell he would get out of there without you."

Matt shook his head. "He came back for me. He played with Alexa."

"All with very selfish reasons, I can assure you."

"He held my hand." Matt's fingers flexed on the doorknob. "When we picked the urn. He held my hand."

Mello was silent.

He took the pause and wrenched the door open. Sarah was waiting downstairs with a bag of sandwiches. Matt leaned in as he took them, whispering to her: "I wish you hadn't done that."

She kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his hair fondly, her smile at odds with the sad expression in her knowing eyes. "I trust my instincts--the same ones that allowed you into my home all those years ago."

Her remark made him pause, but only for a split second. He stuffed the bag of sandwiches into his duffle and headed for the door. Like Matt knew he would, Near trailed silently behind him.

The gravel crunched beneath their feet, quick, angry sounds that seemed louder than necessary. The wildlife from the nearby cluster of trees chirped and shrilled as the night began to lighten to a dull grey in the eastern sky. The silence between Matt and Near screamed between them, tense and electric.

Matt unlocked the passenger side of the Mercedes and opened the door. He didn't wait for Near to get in before twisting on his heel and marching to the other side of the vehicle. He unlocked the driver's side with one hand and fished for a cigarette with the other, his lips twisting bitterly as he thought of Near's new-found knowledge. Matt figured the detective was kicking himself now. Had Near known that Matt was _his_ weapon, and had been trained by Watari himself for the job, perhaps he would have kept his little secret to himself for a while longer. Maybe he would have suffered Matt's advances a little more coyly, instead of so thoroughly rejecting them.

Matt found it wretchedly ironic, that he would spend his life training for one thing, hoping it would be for Mello, only to find that it would have to be for Near, and yet be thwarted from even that. To have to betray Mello, only to later have to give those very services to an American, war-mongering general because of the one he swore to protect.

Matt lit his cigarette, stiffening as he realized Near had not entered the car. Out of Matt's peripheral, he could see the detective standing next to the Mercedes, staring in the direction of the house. Joe and Sarah stood on the porch watching them.

"How many weeks do you hypothesize the remainder of Mello's list will take?" Near's voice was flat and inflectionless as usual, but it seemed more suited for the glum quiet than Matt's tone.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Near? Get in the goddamn car."

"Panama," Near said, ignoring the hacker's acidic command. "Bridge to Nowhere. St. Josef of Memmingen. How long to complete these tasks? Four weeks? Six?"

"Six," Matt answered tightly, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Maybe eight."

"Perhaps you would rather spend that time here."

Matt was doing a very good job of not looking at the detective, but that remark almost made him glance over. "What?"

"Danny-boy expects you after I return to England," Near murmured, his voice almost too quiet to discern. "I can finish this on my own. It is unnecessary to force you to waste your last free weeks with me. Maybe it would be more...congenial to stay with the Starks. Until my task is completed."

"No."

"This is a responsibility Mello left for _me_. You should stay with your family. Without my interference."

Matt nearly choked on the smoke trapped in his throat. He coughed and looked over at Joe and Sarah. The offer was tempting, and surely, it was more than due him. But the Starks were not his family. They were close to what he would like his family to be, but a person cannot always choose their family. Usually, it was chosen for them. Matt was no exception.

Matt dropped his half-smoked cigarette on the ground and crushed the cherry out with the toe of his boot. "I still can't stand to look at you," Matt said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "And I don't trust you enough to let you stay anywhere near these people. But..." Matt took a deep breath and glanced over at Mello, who stood just to the side of him, gazing thoughtfully at Near. Mello's piercing green eyes flickered to Matt's. The ghost shrugged once and turned into the darkness of the trees, disappearing almost instantly. "But I'm not ready to give up yet." Matt turned his face towards Near's direction, not quite looking at him, but definitely trying to. There were six words that explained everything. Why he came back after so long, why he cared, why he was here now--even rejected and barely stable. Six words; and he spoke them now in an anguished whisper:

"You are all I have left."

Matt could feel Near's eyes on him, searching, dissembling, soaking everything in. Nothing ever escapes eyes like that, do they? They suck even the light in, like twin black holes, the implosion of sun-stars in the great vacuum. No escape.

Matt wasn't able to breathe until he felt the car dip slightly and heard the door shut, letting him know that Near was willing to play along a while longer. How much longer, Matt wasn't sure. He fully expected Near to disappear one day, to finally realize that there is nothing, really, _at all_, stopping him from doing whatever it is that he wants to do. That he could walk away from everything, if he wanted to, or return to his haven, to his duties and bodyguards. He could be more, or he could be less. But really, _really_, Near didn't _need_ anyone. Matt knew the detective thought he did. He thought he was inept when it came to dealing with the world he was unfortunately born into. Thus the computer screens and the voice boxes and the bodyguards. But it was bullshit. There was a big difference between _needing_ and _wanting_, and both were perfectly okay--but Near was strong enough to make it without any of the crap that had been left behind for him, or the SPK remnants the detective had collected for himself. It would be nice if Near knew that.

Matt looked forward to the day that he woke up and Near was gone, because he would know that it all had gotten through. That Near had figured it out. And if he was at Wammy's when General Whitman was finished with Matt perhaps, _maybe_, Matt might show up and report in as 'W'.

Depends, of course, entirely on Near's sense of responsibility. After his year with Danny-boy, Matt would never again work for a man who would use him for selfish means, as a tool for power and corruption. Matt hadn't thought Near was anything like that. Mello had been--which was why Matt never broke his promise to Watari. But after Near's confession, Matt wasn't so sure of the detective's character.

However, he wasn't sure if he was quite ready for it to end. Not like this. Not while it was weird, and Matt was angry, and Near was confused. It would just feel unfinished, like a waste of precious time. And Matt wasn't ready to give up.

He was still livid...but Mello had pissed him off countless times. The patience he had acquired by being Mello's friend was paying off now.

The hacker slid in behind the wheel, tossed his duffle into the back, and started the ignition.

~*~

The following week was...uncomfortable.

Matt could not bring himself to speak to Near, and the detective remained equally silent. They had to wait eight days to board the cruise liner that would take them down the coast, stop for a day at the Panama Canal, and then churn up to Los Angeles. They stayed in a suite on the fourteenth story of the Hilton in downtown Boston while they waited, eating grilled-cheese sandwiches and staring off in different directions.

On the eighth day, Matt secured a cellular line for Near and allowed him to check in with Wammy's. Near had disappeared into a separate room for over an hour, speaking to Rester and Halle in tones too low for Matt to hear. When he'd emerged, he had looked distracted, twirling viciously at his white hair and wandering aimlessly around the suite.

Matt destroyed the cell phone before packing the duffle and holding the door open so they could leave.

Customs was eventless, and Matt was bemusedly grateful--even in his brooding state. Near played the part of the blind man again. It worked as well as it had last time. But touching the detective felt different this time. His hand ached from where it pressed on the small of the detective's back, leading him this way and that. When they had found their room, Matt had snatched his hand away and left him there, escaping to the bar for the first of many rounds of alcohol.

When he'd returned, drunk and swaying, Near was curled on his bunk, facing the wall.

The days dragged by, one molding into the other. They kept the room shuttered and dark, probably so they didn't have to look at each other. Regularly, Matt brought him food, but stayed away from the room as often as he could. He liked the ballroom, because it was constantly noisy. Old women cackled and jeered, couples laughed gaily in their honeymooning state, children squealed and dashed about, and the few single women on board giggled and eyed Matt's drunken, hunched form by the corner bar. All the while, the boat swayed. It was a lulling movement, a motion of shifting side to side that most passengers figured out ways of ignoring within the first couple hours of the voyage. Not Matt. As long as he could feel the movement, he knew he still existed.

It was so easy to disappear.

Mello had not visited him since disappearing in the Starks' driveway.

Near pretended he didn't exist.

His own mind laughed at him.

Matt felt the depression thicken with each fleeting hour, the burn in his chest become duller, his need to _feel _become just a little less necessary. By the fourth day of their voyage, Matt thought he knew why Near did not like to feel.

It was easier.

The bartender had cut him off for the day, so Matt stumbled back to his room, his feet dancing underneath him as the ship swayed back and forth. He felt a little like a ping pong ball as he made his way through one thin, claustrophobic hall and then the next, brushing against each side of the wall at least five times before he could turn the corner and grab the handle of his door.

Near was asleep. Matt could tell because of the sounds he made, the whimpers and the moans became more and more painful the closer the detective came to waking up. The nightmares had begun on the _Wasp_, but when Matt had asked about them, Near had stared at him balefully and refused to answer.

Matt closed the door quietly behind him and stood in the center of the room, watching spasm after spasm shudder through the dreaming albino. Matt wanted to wake him, like he had on the _Wasp_, to hold him until he calmed and sorted himself. But Matt couldn't trust himself now. He had gone too far with the detective. Near had been quite thorough in his rejection, and Matt was still very bitter about the incident with the Hezbollah.

Matt bit his lip as Near cringed and muffled a scream in the bed sheet beneath him. It hurt to watch this, but Matt knew it would be over in a matter of minutes. Near always woke himself up before long. It was usually better if Matt wasn't there when he did though. Near had a way of looking at Matt when he first woke from a night terror like he didn't belong there, like he had no right to see such a thing. Matt turned to leave again, but Mello appeared and blocked his way.

"Where have you been?" Matt demanded darkly, his voice barely a whisper.

Mello ignored his question and stared past him, a severe expression marring his features. His eyes were a dark beryl today, barely more than a shadow. It was the color of trees in the reflection of a pond at twilight. Near whimpered again and Matt turned back. He felt like a monster, being a mere voyeur with his sadistic, ghostly companion, cruelly gazing on as the one who was better than all of them shuddered inside his own personal hell.

Suddenly, Mello pressed close to Matt, fitting his freezing body behind him. Matt stiffened. He did not like it when Mello touched him. He was far too cold. Slowly, and with great deliberation, Mello reached up and snaked his white hands over Matt's shoulders. Carefully, leaning in close enough to move the strands of Matt's hair with his frosty breath, Mello pressed his fingers against Matt's eyes, whispering: "_Shhhhhh._"

There was a jolt, and then a sensation like pain, but more of an echo of the thing. Then it felt like the floor dropped out from beneath Matt's feet and the whole room was shaking. He quaked, struggling against Mello's sudden, iron-like grip, as the world shook and trembled and then spun around and around and around...

He was freezing. He stared at Near, his lips blue and his white hair dreaded by clumps of ice, as he stood beside him gazing down at the Mello-child playing in the water. Another spasm; and they were in a room. A thin man with a black sack over his head was being bodily thrown into a wall. There was a sickening crunch and the body slid down and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. There was a smear of blood left on the wall. A leg came out from nowhere and kicked the man in the stomach before two pairs of hands reached out and grabbed the man's arms, hauling him to his feet. The man made a choking sound, like he was trying to scream, but had forgotten how, and seemed like a rag doll in their hands as he was tossed from one corner of the room to the other. At some point, the prisoner landed on his knees, his right arm flopping awkwardly to the side, and the sack slipped down, pulled by gravity, and fell to the floor. Aghast, Matt saw the shock of curling white hair, the pale white skin, and knew it was Near.

This is what they had done to him at Abu Ghraib.

He looked swollen. They were shouting at him, demanding answers Near was never going to give. Near had long since lost himself inside of his own head. No torture technique could get this one to talk, not when he was inside of his mind. Nothing can touch him there.

Mello was there, whispering to him. Near's face was warped by swelling and bruises. His mouth was dark with blood. His eyes were hollow.

Matt shouted at him to wake up when he saw the hammer, when they grabbed his left hand. He tried to attack the man who held the tool, but he couldn't move. He screamed and writhed, a fury filling him so consuming he saw red. There was a tremble, another jolt, but the scene didn't change like the rest of them. They were in the same room, in the same situation. But Near thought faster than Matt did. He was moving so quickly, Matt forgot, momentarily, that it was him he was watching. The hammer was suddenly in his left hand, and it was smashing in the skull of his tormentor. Near wasn't finished, a peculiar, terrified look strangling his swollen features as he whirled and proceeded to rip out the throat of the other one. Matt realized abruptly that the blood that covered Near when he found him in Abu Ghraib had not been his own.

Near sank to his knees, running a hand blindly over his face, smearing red blood into his white hair. He glanced up at the ceiling, and then stared at his hands. Finally, the detective took in a deep shuddering breath and looked at the men he had killed. Matt watched the regret fill his dark eyes, the pupils become smaller, the light blue iris become visible...and then the image shimmered and went black.

He felt sick as Mello released him, and he stumbled forward. He landed painfully on his knees, one hand on the edge of Near's bunk to brace himself. His voice came out like a sob as he reached over and grasped Near's shoulder. "Near!" He shook him roughly as Near cringed away. "Fucking Christ, Near; _wake up_!"

Near's eyes snapped open and Matt grabbed him by both arms and pulled him from the bed. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, the hole in his chest constricting painfully as Near shuddered and clutched in shock at Matt's collar. His nails were sharp and dug painfully into the flesh of Matt's throat.

"Jesus, Near," Matt was muttering, "God, I'm so _sorry_."

Near struggled against him, trying to lift his head, and Matt's arms fell away instantly. Matt took one look at Near's face and scrambled back. He looked angry.

"I was--you were dreaming," Matt murmured inanely as he jumped to his feet. _My dead boyfriend showed me _what_ you were dreaming and I didn't like it_, he kept to himself.

Near's eyes were pitch black and glowering. "You are absurd. Your apologies are wholly uncalled for."

"Hey, fuck you," Matt snapped. "You sounded like you were in pain."

"Well, I wasn't obviously," Near said, his voicing raising a pitch higher than usual. "I was, as you so intelligently observed, _dreaming_."

"You were dreaming about Abu Ghraib," Matt accused, and then bit his lip to keep from saying anything else.

Near narrowed his eyes. "The subject of my dreams is inconsequential to you, regardless."

That stung in ways Matt was sure Near hadn't intended it to sting, but it was an otherwise odd thing to say. "How so?"

Near waved his hand imperiously, it was a small, minute gesture, a mere movement of his fingers, but the effect was the same. "My mind is reviewing memories of a very recent encounter that I--" Near inhaled sharply, glancing away. A tremble quivered between his shoulder blades. Even from across the room, Matt could see the effort it cost the detective to fight to seem aloof and indifferent.

"Near, stop it." Matt waited until Near looked at him. "Guilt compounding trauma is either going to give you a complex or make you insane. You have to--"

"I have no right," Near interrupted, his tone sharp even if his voice was flat, "to impugn you with complaints regarding this _particular_ matter."

Matt gritted his teeth when he saw the stubborn lift of Near's chin. This conversation would go nowhere. He needed a drink. "Fine," he said, and turned for the door. "Be a fucking martyr."

"Matt."

He looked back in time to see Near motion with his fingers again. It was an invitation this time, instead of a dismissal. Matt felt helpless. He hated himself for needing it so badly, needing warmth instead of cold. Someone alive instead of someone long-dead. He went.

Two steps merely, but he was there. His face felt hot and he averted his gaze as Near lifted his left hand and placed his fingertips on Matt's hip, slipping one digit into the belt-loop there, trapping him. He _was_ warm.

That had been the best part--when he'd been reckless almost two weeks ago now and kissed him...right before every weak strand of fragile trust and companionship they had woven together frayed and snapped, everything crashing down around them. Near had been warm. Alive. Human. Physically there.

The twin abysms were staring at him again, trying to suck the life right out of him, the truth, the riddle, whatever it was that Near sought. Near didn't move, and neither did Matt. The hacker had learned his lesson. He would not initiate again.

But, God, he _needed_ this.

Near's face was impossibly close. Matt could feel his hot breath on his throat, the tickle of his white hair on his skin. "I don't know what to do to make us better," Near whispered, the words causing gooseflesh where they hit Matt's flesh.

"I don't want to be your charity case," Matt whispered back, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

Near was silent for a long moment, and the heat between them was becoming unbearable. "I don't know what that means," Near murmured finally. "But I know I am not Mello."

Matt jerked in his trance, taking the words like a blow. He still could not move away, not with Near's fingertips fixing him in place, but he wanted to so badly he trembled. He lifted his eyes and saw Mello staring at them, a black outline in the corner of the room. His piercing green eyes were hot, burning like coal. He stared unblinking, and Matt stared back as the guilt ravaged him, tearing his heart apart and making it feel like a fresh wound all over again. Betrayed over and over for the same one. The third child. Matt could not fathom how this had happened, what cruel twist of fate had led him down this path. But he was here, and it was all left in _his_ hands now, the hands of the third, and they held Matt fast by mere fingertips.

"_I'm sorry_," Matt croaked, his voice filled with pain. The words were meant for Mello, but of course Near wouldn't know that. Near's hand fell back to his side and he turned his face away. A split second later, Matt swiftly left the room and stood shaking in the hall. He breathed in through his nose until his heartbeat slowed, until he could walk again. The world was no longer swaying violently, and that was never a good thing.

Matt headed back toward the ballroom.

~*~

Matt had heard a rumor that the ship was going to dock early at the Canal. This is why he was at the stern during the hour before sunrise. Mello had once confided in him that he always wanted to see the sun rise on one ocean, and then set on another in the same day--without having to hop on a plane. The hacker had a sneaking suspicion that was why the third stop on Mello's list was the Panama Canal. To his knowledge, the Canal was the only place one could do that; see the sun touch two oceans in the same day.

Mello had tried to make Matt turn back and return to his room after the bartender in the ballroom sent him out again. However, Matt had ignored his ghost until it muttered himself back into nothingness. Matt had wandered the ship then, surfacing to the deck from time to time so he could smoke. The liner was massive, gilded and buzzing with parties and drunken laughter even in this late--or early, as the case may be--hour. Matt avoided crowds when he could, but mostly didn't care. His inebriation had turned into a sober headache, the ache forming behind his eyes as the alcohol in his system hastened a hangover Matt would have much rather slept off.

Matt knew he would have to return to the room eventually, to wake Near so they could complete Mello's third task. He wanted to see the sun rise first. Matt wasn't sure what the big deal was about their solar system's star making its first daily appearance on the local horizon, but he supposed the colors were pretty enough. Already, the inky black sky was melting into a deep purple color. The shade reminded Matt of the shadows beneath Near's eyes, achingly similar to the smudges that had owled L's eyes before him. Matt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He lifted one foot and hooked it into the railing, and then folded his arms over the top bar, resting his chin in the nook of his arms.

They were so similar it was frightening--L and Near. They both seemed so indifferent, so callous, but really it was bullshit. They were cowards, trapping their feelings behind a pale face and unblinking eyes because if they revealed how much they cared, the real world would butcher them, hack them into little tiny pieces and then eat them for breakfast. It wasn't fair that the rest of them had to feel so much, that Matt and Mello, Roger and K and D, the Starks, Akhish, Yisheth and his family...it wasn't fair that _they_ had to have their hearts broken, their friends die, their families ripped apart, their worlds torn inside out because they weren't capable of not giving a damn. It wasn't right that Near could just about get himself tortured to death on a wild gamble for Matt's network and walk away like it wasn't a big deal. The little brat had no idea how badly that had scared him, how much he gave to get him back. _That_, really, was what angered him.

No. Who was he kidding?

That's not true.

Matt placed a cigarette between his lips, angling his head to the side so he could light the damn thing.

Matt wasn't really angry about that. The truth of it was a bit simpler. Matt knew that if he had never bothered Near in the first place, the detective never would have gotten hurt. He had put Near in an impossible situation. Matt was supposed to protect him, take care of him, but he was injured and unconscious in a war zone. Matt knew Near saw the scars, and God knows what Akhish had said to him to set him off...Near panicked. Matt knew the detective well enough that he should have expected that, planned for it. Hell, looking back, he probably should have just told him the truth in the first place. But Matt had been selfish, still undecided about whether or not he wanted to be W for the new L...for Near, his best friend's rival.

It was his fault.

It had been his fault that his mother died. It was his fault that Mello got careless with Takada. It would have been his fault if Near had died too.

The more Matt thought about, the more he was convinced that Watari was out of his mind to agree with L's proposition--that since Matt was refusing to be L, then perhaps he should train to be W instead. When Matt was told that Near had been chosen instead of Mello, he couldn't look either of the heirs in the eye. He had been the first to leave Wammy's, so disgusted with the trickery, so angry with the deceit. They _knew_, L and Watari, what Matt would have to sacrifice to keep his promise. How _could_ they?

Matt had never been angry with Near for his succession. His wrath was directed with careful precision toward the two who had made the decision in the first place, L and W.

Mostly, Matt was angry that he was angry all the time. It was an awful feeling and he couldn't shake it. If he wasn't angry, he was painfully aware of the hole in his chest. There were only a few times when he forgot about the hole, and wasn't angry at all. The problem was, it was usually because of Near.

Mello was right, Near was often accidentally funny. And before it got weird between the two of them, Matt could almost say he was beginning to calm down. He smiled with Near, something he hadn't done in years. And that was...well, it was _nice_. Or had been. _Before_ it got weird. Before the kiss. Before Mello decided to play matchmaker, and then glare at him like he was committing treason.

Matt flicked his butt into the roiling black ocean, a cool breeze ruffling his hair. He rested his head back into the cradle of his arms, watching the foam on the water, trying not to brood, but failing miserably.

"I wanted to see the stars."

Matt jumped nearly out of his skin at the sound of Near's voice, skittering back a few steps. Near had on a baseball cap drawn low over his eyes, and wore a long sleeved shirt and jeans he'd found in Matt's duffle. White, curling hair peeked out from beneath the cap, waving graciously against Near's jaw and neck and disappearing into his collar. Near turned his head, tilting it slightly so he could see Matt's face. His mouth was turned down in a peculiar frown. "I suppose I'm too late."

"Well, there's always Lucifer," Matt muttered before he could stop himself.

Near tilted his head at an even sharper angle, revealing the dark shadow where his eyes were. His frown became deeper.

Matt lifted one hand, feeling precisely like the idiot he sounded, and pointed up. "Morning star," he mumbled. "Sorry, private joke." Not _his_ joke, per se. It had been something Mello used to say.

_Let's go see Lucifer, Matt. Come on; wake up!_

_God, you're insane Mello. _

Near looked up, exposing the hollow of his throat. Matt looked away, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. "Ah," Near said. "I see it." He looked back at Matt, but he was still staring at the deck. "Thank you."

Matt shrugged and watched out of his peripheral as Near approached the rail. He had a sudden urge to make him back away, as if he would magically fall over if he didn't. But he knew that was absurd. Matt decided to keep quiet.

"I should probably tell you, Rester and Halle have noticed some inconsistencies in albino statistics." Near's tone was monotonous and bored. But there was a flush crawling up his neck, and Matt noticed his breathing was slightly hitched. A couple strolled by and Near stiffened. Matt drew closer so Near didn't have to speak so loud.

"What inconsistencies?" Matt asked under his breath.

Near waited until the couple went past. "Death statistics. Hate crime numbers are rising."

Matt's mouth thinned, his eyes hardening as he peered at the brightening horizon. "A swell?"

"Not yet."

"That's not good, Near."

"Not enough evidence to claim that my sighting has been leaked, but it is a passing concern. I have instructed Rester to make a statement as L. It should at least confuse the underground, if there is a warrant for my assassination."

"You should really let me take you home."

"I intend to keep my word."

"Is it worth your life?"

Near turned to him, regarding Matt silently. The hacker felt uncomfortable under the detective's scrutiny, feeling every vulnerability he'd ever had rise to the surface and get sucked into that black gaze. "Yes," Near answered finally, and turned back to staring at the water.

"Well, it's not," Matt said. "It's really not."

The sky was bleeding into a ruddy, reddish pink color before Near spoke again. "I've never wanted a friend before." He said the words slowly, as if he was hoping they would make more sense out loud. Judging from the irritated frown that twisted his lips after he spoke them, they didn't.

Matt stared at him, curious and more than a little stunned at the sudden confession. It wasn't like Near to be so open.

"I understand a little," Near continued after a moment, his eyes searching the frothy water as it began to sparkle. "With Rester and Halle, what the Starks are to you--how it's different with you and me. They are..." Near's face scrunched up briefly, and then smoothed out again. He waved his hand irritably. "They are like a piece from the wrong puzzle, doesn't quite fit." His voice faded off, and the annoyed frown was back. He sighed heavily and looked away. "I'm no good at this, Matt," he murmured softly.

"Don't worry about it," Matt said, his voice gruffer than he intended it to be.

Near seemed to struggle again, his mouth opening and closing. Finally, he said: "I know I am not forgiven."

"Near--"

"_No_. Let me say this. I don't understand why you apologize for things that are not your responsibility--"

"_You_ are my responsibility."

"Please refrain from speaking until I am _finished_," Near snapped, his eyes flashing beneath his cap.

Matt scowled into the horizon.

"I keep my word," Near said, his voice stern yet sincere. "So, logically, if I finish Mello's will, and I tell you I will not put myself into danger to force you to reveal..." His voice broke off, lost in some thought that made him shudder. Matt looked at him. Near met his eyes. "If I finish this," Near whispered. "Then you can trust me. You would have no reason not to." It wasn't framed like a question, but it sounded like one--as if Near was searching for some validation of this odd theory he'd formulated.

His words mattered very little to Matt. What struck him was that Near had searched the boat for Matt to tell him this. First, he was angry the detective would endanger himself but that quickly passed. Matt could see the toll this had taken on the detective, coming out on his own. A sheen of sweat glistened on Near's exposed skin, his breathing was still labored, his fingers were trembling...the panic was threatening to spill over. Matt was actually impressed that he had learned how to hold it at bay this well.

Near stared at Matt, and the hacker stared back. Abruptly, Near made a strange face and tore his eyes away. "I'm finished. Thank you for listening."

It suddenly felt like ice was sliding down Matt's wrist, and he looked down in time to see Mello's thin, nearly transparent fingers encircle his hand and begin lifting it. Matt looked up, but Mello wasn't there. When he looked at his hand again, Mello's fingers were gone--but the damage was done. Mello had pulled Matt's palm up. Near saw the movement and looked down. It was absurd--utterly ridiculous--the thrill that passed through him when Near took his hand and interlaced their fingers, accepting an invitation Matt hadn't meant to give. Matt was visited by the brutal urge to laugh hysterically. He bit his lip and stared out over the Atlantic Ocean as it frothed and roiled, the sky erupting into a riot of color as the sun finally made its glimmering appearance, a sliver of brilliance cresting the horizon. It really was rather beautiful.

"Thank you," Matt murmured, tightening his fingers around the hand in his. "For coming out here. It would have been a shame to see this alone."

"You're welcome," Near answered simply, squinting against the brightness but not turning his face away.

An impasse. After all of this, they had come full circle. Back to square one.

Holding hands.

"Are you sure you want to be my friend?" Matt asked, his voice thick. "You don't know the things that haunt me."

Near looked at him then, a whipping breeze lifting the ball cap up from his face. Matt saw the manic glint in his eyes, the private smile, the almost incredulous expression Matt was sure he was fighting too.

His face seemed to say: _You have no idea._

A small, breathy laugh escaped through Near's pale lips as he turned back to the sunrise.

Behind them, Mello grinned.

**To be continued...**

**Nebo**: Thank you so much for your reviews! I became really excited while reading them, because I felt like we were on the very same page. I listen very carefully to reviews, and I had begun to worry that I wasn't getting my point across--but your reviews helped me quit second-guessing myself. So thank you!

Ch. 8--Near was most definitely insulating himself inside of his head. It was interesting to me, after reading so much in "Static", a documentary about free press and how that right got morphed in propaganda by the Bush Administration, about psychological torture and its methods, to try some against Near--who, when all is said and done, has the strongest mind in this story. I tried a few different things with that scene, and ended up with the one that made it into the final cut. I wanted to make the pain leave a lasting impression, but also to have Near's mind relatively impenetrable. Even under torture, he wouldn't be giving anything away. The hammer scene...was certainly surprising. And if I said my own sense of justice didn't leak onto the page, I'd be lying. After having to force myself to put Near through that kind of trauma, I wanted to show Near strong enough to take an opportunity when it was provided him and become a deadly thing--or at least, to show that he has enough of a sense of self-preservation to fight back. Thank you for considering the escape from Abu Ghraib epic! It's one of the more exciting moments in this story, and I'm glad I pulled it off. I wanted to also use that scene, and the brief ones preceding it, to show how intense Matt can be when he slips into "protector mode".

The remainder of your review for this chapter was incredibly exciting for me. I agree whole-heartedly that in real life, things do not conveniently snap together. And I thought that a Death Note fanfic was a perfect opportunity to explore that because of L's death three quarters into the series. Obata wasn't afraid to make beloved characters fail, and I respected that of him. It was a brave thing to do, given how many fans doted on L. And even later, there were many, many sacrifices to be made on all sides before the conclusion of the series. Here, in SA, I wanted to continue that idea--at least the idea that life isn't always gooey and fun. People are people, no matter how intelligent, and it is human to make mistakes, to hurt those you love, to obsess over trivial things and ignore the heart-wrenching possibilities right under your nose. With Matt and Near, two very introverted, intense, quiet people, it is important to me to acknowledge their flaws, to keep them human, to let them hurt each other...because otherwise, could they possibly be in-character? Near does like to forget his previous apathy with Matt, because he cares so much now. And Matt forgets at times that Near will be Near no matter how much he wishes he were different. Near is definitely immature, and this fic is designed to help him mature, in a sense. And Matt is mature, even if a little wild, but he is also suffering. I do plan for a happy ending, eventually--even if it won't quite be this story that it happens in. But I've always thought "Happy Ending" is an inane sentiment. One moment can have a happy closure, but it's not an ending, not really. There will be many chapters with mini-adventures, little heart-aches and moments where they scratch open each other's wounds--and when the chapter comes to a close, there might even be a sense of peace as well as happiness and understanding. But end? Never. ^_^

Ch. 9--Alexa was based off of my own sister, Teresa, who is nine also, and might even be a tad immature for her age. I can understand your confusion, and sympathize too, because I feel about small humans much as Near does--they're like little aliens invading our planet! I understand very little about them. But Teresa melts me just like Alexa melted Near, despite his irritation. We're both quite helpless against their charm, I suppose.

The explosion between them was very difficult for me to write, even after the reasons I stated above, because it was so heart-breaking to let everything come to a peak and rip through them. I also felt, however, that certain things needed to be said, that consequences had to be dealt with, before either of them could move in the direction I want them to. You know, it's fascinating to me how powerful words are--especially ones spoken out loud, and doubly so for the ones that are bitten out during an argument. I strictly believe that person means everything they say, because it had to begin as a thought--no matter how fleeting--before it was processed and came out of their mouth. Doesn't mean they can't change their mind, just that, in the moment, they meant it, every last cruel word. And so, Matt meant what he said--but certainly not in the way Near takes it. Matt meant it to sting, but when he spoke the words, he didn't realize Near cared about him as much as he did. Matt felt embarrassed and angry, rejected and betrayed. He was taking a little of his pride back, defending his dead friend. But Near would only understand it as "It's hopeless. He will always want Mello more, and I don't compare." It's devastating how powerful words are at times.

I'm glowed for days after reading this next part. Sarah and Joe's role in this chapter was definitely supposed to speak volumes about the "Mom and Dad" role that they play for Matt and Near while they are, indeed, hurting each other. I've lived on my own as a child, been in and out of foster care, had adopted families and lived with biological ones too, and the difference is very real; it's a tangible thing. Near and Matt, Mello and L, even Beyond, to an extent, and K, all have a sense of being anchorless when it comes to the very real values and compassion that comes with having a family. Nothing can replace what a parent can offer to a child. And I wanted to show Near and Matt having that experience with the Starks, so that they can know the difference too.

Thank you again for your amazing reviews! They were revitalizing!

**Inuyashalove04**: Thanks for another review! And you guessed rightly! Congratulations! Ha ha, I was relieved to finally be able to write something Matt/Near, even if it was brief, and violently interrupted. Thanks again! And Happy Holidays to you too!


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Remember  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: There's one brief moment, where Mello refers to a conversation he and Near have in the canon.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi readers! Hmm, first things first, this is the last chapter that will be posted under the T rating, so mark the story if you haven't yet and you like it enough to keep reading this on .

This chapter is very dear to me because I resided in Panama four two and a half years as a child. In fact, my younger sister was born there. There was so much I wanted to cover in this chapter, so much I wanted to describe about this country. Unfortunately, I had to restrict myself to ten thousand words, which was hard, but I thought that anything over that would be a little ridiculous. I posted some notes at the bottom, talking about some facts and things that I mention briefly that might need clarification.

Languages are a popular theme in this chapter, and so is color. It seemed especially important to me to have the very texture of Panama jump off the page. In any case, I hope you enjoy it. I had planned to talk about Matt's character synopsis here, but I'm tired and think I'll do it another time.

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Eleven

**Remember**

"_Who is the third who walks always beside you?_

_When I count, there are only you and I together_

_But when I look ahead up the white road_

_There is always another one walking beside you_

_Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded_

_I do not know whether a man or a woman_

_--But who is that on the other side of you?"_

**~From What the Thunder Said, "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot**

July 15th, 2013

"You are not real."

Mello stopped himself from rolling his eyes with visible effort, taking on instead a look of infinite patience. He appeared more relaxed today, wearing casual sweats and a black hoodie. The actual hood was interesting and stood out from the rest, as the interior was made of a brightly contrasting, vivid red color. Mello's yellow-blond hair was pulled away from his face and tied loosely behind his head with a rubber-band. It was a look he'd seen before. Mello's style at Wammy's, before he'd left, was one of comfort instead of the later intimidating, tight-fitted leather. Mello wore no scars today.

"That depends," Mello answered slowly, "on what you consider real."

"There's no way to reason this."

Mello looked amused, wagging his finger once before returning his hand to the single pocket of his hoodie. "_That_ is incorrect."

"Fine. How do you reason what you are?"

Mello leaned against the tile wall. "How do you know what is fact?"

"By observing it to be true."

Mello nodded once. "Precisely. Basic reasoning one-oh-one."

"Then you could say an insane person who is convinced of their delusions isn't really crazy at all."

Mello laughed, his narrow, cat-shaped eyes sparkling. "That's an interesting argument."

"You see my dilemma."

Mello grinned, a flash of sharp white teeth. "Alright. Let's say you do have a chemical imbalance in your brain, brought on from your aptitude for panic and current stress--what would I be then?"

"A projection."

"Or?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Mello."

"You have no idea how much it pleases me to hear you say that."

"On the contrary, I think I do."

Mello shifted, lifting his hand from his pocket once again to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "Okay. You've said 'delusion' and 'projection'. Following this train of logic, is it so far-fetched that I could be an impression?"

"An impression?"

"Yes. Only not your impression, or his, but mine."

"...I do not think we're talking about psychology."

"Not anymore, no."

"You mean residual energy."

"Precisely--Oh, don't look so incredulous. You didn't seem so put out by the idea of death gods. Why does the term 'ghost' freak you out?"

"I am not freaked out."

"You're in denial."

"Maybe."

Mello chewed on his lower lip, eyeing him carefully. "Would '_tulpa_' be easier for you to contend with?"

"No. It's still the same general concept."

"True. But I'm trying to reason with you here, and you're not making it very easy."

"Of course."

Mello smiled. "Of course."

"You mentioned death gods. Is that what you are trying to be? Is that why you're here?"

"No--and, ah, no."

"Then why?"

"We've been through this already."

_I've left something for you. For safekeeping._

"That? You're just following me around to make sure I get it done?"

"I'm not following you."

"Is scattering your ashes so _important_ that you would haunt me?"

A wave of hysteria washed over Mello, and he doubled over as he laughed.

"It's not about ashes, is it?"

_You will keep it safe, won't you?_

"No, stupid. It was never about ashes."

_Do you promise?_

"Do you know who is trying to kill me?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who is responsible for the murders in Japan?"

"Yes."

"Will you tell me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Mello looked disappointed, straightening with a scowl. "Because it's hardly relevant."

"How can it not be relevant?"

"I exist in nothingness. Do you understand that?"

"No. Not really."

"It means that the things that keep reality in a fixed point do not exist here. Like matter, like time and space. We do not see things here in one line. Here, it's more like a cube, with multiple points rather than just the one."

"What--like lunar mapping?"

Mello sighed. "If that helps you understand, then yes. It _is_ a lot like mapping out geography in space. Where standard gravitational rules do not apply, you take--"

"A fixed point, like the moon, and use it as a point of origin for six other points--"

"In a space/time continuum. Exactly. Our point of origin is the physical world--but we see much, much more."

"And the homicides in Japan, the ashes, the people trying to kill me--it's all irrelevant compared to what?"

"Compared to what's coming."

"Which is?"

Mello looked off into the distance, his eyes unfocused for a moment as he gazed into the nothingness. When they focused again, he looked resigned. "I'm not allowed to tell you that."

"Why not?"

"There are rules."

"What rules?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you that either."

"Like rules in the Death Note?"

Mello regarded him with uncharacteristic severity. "Very." Mello paused, glancing away again. "The future is subjective, as is my impression on the physical realm where it plays out. I'm sorry, but concerning this matter, that is all I can say."

The door swung open, and Matt walked distractedly into the bathroom, awkwardly juggling a bundle of clothing and a large paper bag. He glanced up and stiffened at Near's startled expression, before his eyes flickered down the detective's naked torso, to the towel wrapped around his slim waist, and then back up to his face. A dark flush crawled up the hacker's neck as he turned quickly and dumped the contents of his arms onto a nearby stand, muttering an apology that contained more than one expletive.

"I knocked," Matt mumbled defensively as he made to back out of the room. "I thought I heard you say--fuck it, never mind. Let me know when you're decent." Matt closed the door with a tad more force than necessary, and cursed again.

Near stared at the door for half a second and then quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and shrugged into a pale gray button down. He had only half the buttons done before he pulled the door open, catching Matt mid-pace.

"What's this?" Near gestured to the pile on the stand with one hand, finishing the rest of the buttons with the other.

Matt stared at him for a moment, his eyes returning to that burning look Near was beginning to recognize as something like lust--if it weren't mixed with the absolutely _agonized_ look that usually accompanied it. Then he swiveled his cornflower blue eyes toward the ceiling. When he looked back, his face was calm and his eyes were darker, muted and carefully reserved. "It's raining. Forgot about rain season in Panama." He made a small movement with his hand, and Near looked again toward the pile. "It's a coat and gloves. The hat and the sunglasses will cover most of your face, but I also got foundation to make the rest of your skin appear darker."

"Raining." It had been a clear night, but Near remembered seeing storm clouds on the horizon as he watched the sun come up with Matt earlier that morning. Near approached the stand and grasped the collar of the coat, pulling it out of the pile and holding it up for closer inspection. Surprisingly lightweight, the wool coat was long, lapelled and belted, and densely black. Near glanced at the designer label and frowned. This was a nine hundred dollar coat. He glanced up at Matt, who shrugged merely and watched as Near tried it on.

Near felt a little absurd, sorely missing, and not for the first time, the simple white garments he wore at Wammy's. He pulled on the snug black gloves and allowed Matt to place a new similarly dark hat atop his head, feeling a little like a doll being dressed up by a child. His reservations vanished, however, when he saw the satisfied smile curve Matt's lips as he backed up a step and appraised him.

"Very nice."

Near sighed. "Will it suffice?"

Matt grunted a little and moved around him to rummage through the paper bag. Near shrugged out of the coat and placed it, and the gloves and hat, on the toilet seat for later. The cruise liner had docked an hour ago on the Pacific coast of the Isthmus of Panama, giving the tourists full access to Panama City for the duration of their twenty-four hour stay. The next day, they would re-embark and make their way up the coast. They had debated, a few hours ago, the necessity of actually leaving the ship.

Matt had been against it, claiming that all they really had to do was sprinkle a handful of ashes into the canal--which they could do safely aboard the ship. Near concurred, but disagreed that Mello would only want them to lean over a rail, that it seemed a waste to come all this way and not even bother to step out onto dry land. Well, figuratively dry land. Besides, now that they were here, Near was curious about the city and its inhabitants. He knew the country's history and every possible statistic this international point of commerce had to offer...but it was one thing to memorize knowledge, and quite another to experience it--a lesson he'd learned in Israel, and then later in Abu Ghraib. But Near didn't think all experiences should be negative. He was certain there had to be a few here and there that were pleasurable. Certainly, this leg of their journey was as good an opportunity to find out as any.

Near won out in the end, of course.

Matt retrieved a small, foamy wedge and a bottle of women's foundation. Near glanced at it and blanched. "I'd really rather not, actually."

Matt frowned at him, shaking the tiny bottle. "After what you told me this morning, I can't believe that you'd fight me on this." He meant the warning from Rester, the alarming inconsistency in hate crime statistics against albinos. The numbers were rising.

Near watched Matt unscrew the lid to the bottle with trepidation. "Really, Matt. I have my pride." Wearing women's make-up was one experience Near never wanted to have, he was certain.

Matt's brows disappeared under his fringe of auburn hair, and when he looked over at Near, his eyes were laughing. "Your pride's not going to mean shit to anybody, least of all you, if you get your head blown off because you have no pigment in your skin."

Matt placed a dollop of the flesh-colored liquid onto the foamy wedge. Near watched the movement warily. His logic was sound, of course. It was a decent precaution. "Is it hypoallergenic?"

Matt snorted softly. "Of course. What the hell do you take me for?"

Near leaned back against the sink, resting his elbows against the rim, and sighed. "Fine."

Matt leaned over him and lifted his white-blond hair away from his face. "Jesus, Near, you'd think it was the end of the world," Matt murmured as he carefully smeared the liquid across Near's pale brow.

It was icy cold, the foundation, but Matt's fingers were warm on his skin as he tilted Near's face this way and that. Near became abruptly aware of their proximities as Matt worked above him, burying his white skin beneath a layer of flesh-toned liquid. It didn't feel as impersonal as maybe it should have been, Matt's fingertips under his chin, his breath warm on his cheek. It felt a little bit like the day before, after Matt had woken him from his nightmare and Near had attempted to stop him from leaving again. Except this time Matt wasn't shivering with some unfathomable emotion, his eyes weren't bright with whatever privately tormented him. They were dark and focused, Matt's cornflower blue eyes, trained on the places on Near's face where he pressed the foamy wedge. Near wondered if he was the only one, this time, that was hyperaware of their closeness, of how their breaths commingled, of the unbearable heat that mounted between them.

He wasn't.

Near knew it when the wedge paused against the side of his face, when Matt removed his fingertips a fraction from his chin, when Near turned his face a little and the hacker seemed to stop breathing altogether.

Near had had two full weeks to ponder Matt's...advancement. To say that it had startled him was an understatement. Near had absolutely nonexistent experience in the realm of physical affection. He had never sought it out, nor had an opportunity ever before been presented to him. It was simultaneously strange and exhilarating that his first kiss would be with Matt--both feelings also quite new to him. Near had liked it. He knew that now, after having so much time to consider the moment. He also knew he had ultimately, quite _utterly_, handled it badly. Lately, and especially after yesterday, Near wondered if physical intimacy was something Matt needed. He understood now that Matt had been intimate with Mello, and it was impossible to ignore the insecurity Near felt when he considered _that_.

There were many considerations here, but ultimately Near's hesitation boiled down to two in particular. First and most prominent was that Matt had made it explicitly clear that, in the hacker's mind, Near did not compare to Mello. That knowledge created a weird ache in the center of the detective's chest. He understood, in the logical part of his mind, that Matt's preference for Mello was because they had been friends, as well as lovers, and the grief for his friend's death was still heartbreakingly stitched into every fiber of Matt's being. It was an obvious, tangible thing. Something Near had noted from the very beginning, the density of Matt's nostalgia for Mello. But there was a venomous, hissing _thing_ behind that logic that whispered to Near he was inadequate. That whenever Matt looked at him with that burning gaze, it was really Mello he wanted to see, and not him. That Near was, at best, a poor replacement.

The second consideration sprang directly from the first, and that was Near's pride. There were moments where Near ached to bridge the gap between them, if only to offer some sort of solace for Matt, to mute out some of the pain that vibrated off of the hacker in thick, roiling waves. But Near had enough pride to blanch at allowing himself to be nothing more than second best, a faceless body Matt could use as a drug to take the edge off. Did that make Near horrible? To want to be seen as well as felt, to know that he was a _person _to Matt, and not just a mere _tool_? Near supposed it did, but he was resigned. After all, he was better known for his single-minded indifference than for his compassion.

Near wasn't sure why Matt looked down, instead of away. Perhaps he sighed, and it distracted them both out of the frozen moment they had lapsed in to. But that tiny, fractional movement nearly did them in. It made their mouths touch.

Just barely, and Near wasn't sure that it could qualify as kissing. Matt was like a stone in front of him, his blue eyes wide and...terrified? Near looked in to them, noticing for the first time the dark gold flecks of color that moved out from the pupil, like a sunburst hidden in the center of cobalt. Near could taste Matt's breath. It tasted like cigarette smoke and cinnamon, and the mixture wasn't altogether unpleasant. Near searched for that quiet, still place inside of his mind, but couldn't submerge himself into indifference. The taste in his mouth was distracting, and he was losing himself in the hue of Matt's darkening eyes, becoming afraid himself at the hungry look that crept into them.

"Is it done?" Near whispered, his mouth moving against Matt's too-close lips.

"Yes," Matt whispered back. His eyes were nearly black now, like the color of sapphires in shadow.

Near's resolve was slipping. He wasn't sure how long he could remain still. The heat was burning uncomfortably in his belly. His hands twitched, and he imagined burying them into Matt's hair.

Matt's eyes flickered, moving to stare over Near's shoulder, towards their room. That tortured look flashed into his eyes again and when they swiveled back to Near's face, anguish seared through them. He could taste the pain as well as he could the smoky cinnamon. "You're _killing_ me, Near," Matt hissed, before shoving himself away and leaving Near in the bathroom.

Near waited for the sound of the door to their room open and shut before he breathed, and his knees buckled. Near grasped the sink tighter to keep from falling, and concentrated on his breathing, trying his hardest to tame the spattering of his heartbeat. He performed a mental exercise to smooth out his rapid thoughts, to calm the need racing through his bloodstream, until his face was once again carefully blank, his thoughts regular and methodical. Only then did he push away from the sink.

~*~

It was indeed raining.

Fat drops of rain hammered sideways at them as it poured from the heavens. Near stood beside Matt on the slippery dock, watching bemusedly as the hacker struggled with the umbrella. Gusts of wind beat the thing inside out and, eventually, Matt threw the offensive thing into a nearby trash bin, uttering a colorful string of profanities, in at least four different languages. Near kept his expression carefully neutral as Matt stormed back over to him.

Matt was not wearing a hat, so his auburn hair was soaked and plastered against his face. His leather jacket glistened in the waning light and jerked around his shoulders as the hacker shoved his hands into his pockets. Matt's goggles had fogged up when they first came outside, the permeating moisture making it impossible to see with them on, so he had long since left them to dangle around his neck. Matt scowled at Near, his stare agitated and expectant.

"So, where to, boss?" Matt grated, sarcastic and scathing. "This was your fucking idea."

Near ignored his provoking and turned in a slow circle. The water of the canal and the Pacific Ocean was a deep green. The clouds were an ominous slate grey. The city sky-line was impressive and glittering, even from the dock. The surrounding neighborhoods, from this vantage point, were surprisingly colorful.

Near shifted Mello's urn from one arm to the other, pausing with his face tilted northward. "Where do you suggest?"

"The boat," Matt snapped waspishly. "Naturally."

"Hm." Near glanced sidelong at his surly companion, a little satisfied, in spite of himself, that their almost-kiss seemed to have affected him too with a sense of lingering frustration.

...Or perhaps it was just the rain.

Near sighed. "North, I think. Through the city."

"Fine." Matt started forward without him, but then seemed to think better of it. He stopped and twisted a little, reaching behind him for Near's hand.

There was a tour going north, coincidentally, through the nicer attractions of Panama City. It seemed to please Matt, because once on-board they were out of the rain. Near watched the scenery shift through the foggy window, drowning out the sounds of grumbling tourists. It seemed Matt was not the only traveler who forgot about Panama's rainy season. Near had not, but it was barely a passing thought.

After all, Near had much more important things to muse, and he found he quite liked rain anyway.

The land was thick and green, large, glossy plants springing out of every mossy nook and cranny possible--much like weeds, only much more beautiful. There was a bank by the dock that caught Near's attention. It was a large expanse of mud, a startling red-brown hue that matched Matt's hair almost perfectly. The mud plain was only a few acres, but there was a stand-still in the traffic leading into the city and it felt like twenty minutes that Near stared at it. As the bus braked and inched forward, Near peered under the brim of his hat at Matt.

The hacker's eyes were flickering around the bus, his gaze never lingering in one place for very long before moving on. The expression he wore was peculiar, and though he didn't precisely seem _tense_, he certainly seemed...aware. He was paying attention to everything, and Near watched his mouth form words in English that a couple behind them was speaking in French. It seemed that he was listening to every conversation in bus too.

It was interesting, seeing the difference in Matt when he was being...

Well, when he was being W.

The grieving, tormented thing gave way to a severe young man who was coiled and ready for anything. The look of concentration and intensity that came over the hacker really did remind Near of Watari--the seldom times that he had made his acquaintance, that is. Near understood now why Matt always had Near positioned a hairsbreadth behind him, why he always seemed to know where the exit was, why he always seemed to know how to acquire a mode of transportation. Why he was armed when Near had been clueless to danger. Why he was courteous and attentive when Near was engaged in a panic attack. Why Matt's mind seemed to always be five days into the future.

The peculiarities in Matt's behavior, that Near had found so odd before--and reason enough to believe the man was an imposter and not the real Matt--seemed less mysterious and more engrained, more reflexive and effortless. He could see now that it was Matt's training come to the forefront, stuffing the actual Matt from their childhood to the back of his being. The Matt that hated going outside. The Matt that would really rather be playing video games. The Matt that smiled easily and loved Mello.

Matt, having at some point felt Near's eyes on him, met his gaze warily. "What?"

"Tell me about Mello," Near said before he could think about it.

Matt blinked at him, his mouth going slack on one side.

Near hesitated, cursing himself silently. He wished he could develop a filter. This was what got him into trouble last time.

Matt recovered and cleared his throat, glancing furtively around them before relaxing into his seat. He switched to Icelandic, a language the hacker seemed to deem safe enough to speak in crowded places. "Alright," Matt answered slowly. "What would you like to know?"

Near opened his mouth, but closed it as the bus lurched forward, pulling them in a part of the road that was overgrown with moss and foliage. The bus rocked back and forth as it dipped off the road. Matt narrowed his eyes and instinctively placed an arm across Near. It reminded the detective of that first ill-fortuned car ride he'd shared with the hacker--where Matt had to press him bodily into his seat as the Corvette jolted across tracks that had a speeding train barreling down them. Thinking back, Near smiled. Perhaps he should have just put on his seatbelt.

This was not nearly so life threatening. Near raised one brow as the surrounding tourists jumped up from their seats, juggling cameras as they chattered excitedly. It was a massive sloth in the middle of the road. The poor beast was too petrified to move, even as local Panamanians shouted at it and attempted to herd it off the road. The spectacle forced traffic off-road for a few meters, and the bus creaked and jostled its inhabitants until it went around, lurching finally back onto the paved cement.

Matt turned back to the detective, finding Near smiling widely.

"That's not something you see everyday, I would imagine," Near murmured, his eyes bluer than usual. "Even in your world."

"No," Matt agreed with a small laugh.

Near turned back to him, the ghost of that smile still hovering around the corners of his mouth. "The Mello I know, I think, is different than the Mello that you know. I'm interested in your Mello."

"My Mello," Matt echoed softly, leaning back. "Mello was..."

A hundred expressions flitted across Matt's face. His mouth was a lopsided grin one second and fierce scowl the next. One moment he looked sorrowful, and then there was a brightness on his face that Near found inexplicably difficult to look at. Back and forth his face went as Matt struggled to find a decent enough adjective to express the sum of Mello. Frustration, incredulity, humor, anger....hate, and love.

Near understood. He turned his face away.

"Mello was generous."

The statement made Near turn back, and he noticed right away the calm, peaceful look on Matt's face. His eyes were thoughtful as they roamed Near's face.

"Generous?"

"Yeah. He wanted so badly to be accepted, to be the best. He wanted to be adored; nurtured." Matt met Near's gaze before drifting on. "Sure, he was bitter with you. Hated you--for getting everything he wanted, and never seeming to care about any of it. Even me."

Near jerked as if he'd been slapped, staring with wide, dark eyes at the hacker. His smile vanished altogether. "I have no claim on you."

"Hm." Matt's eyes flickered to his and then away again. "Irrelevant."

The bus bounced, moving into the city. They passed through the brightly colored neighborhoods, most of their inhabitants wisely staying indoors because of the weather. Near noticed two women scurrying down the sidewalk, using bits of newspaper to cover their heads. Their dark hair was wrapped in vivid red shawls, and their clothes were intricate, and more vibrantly colored than the wash of the surrounding buildings. Complex designs stitched colorful patterns and pictures on their shirts and long skirts. They looked familiar, but Near couldn't possibly think he'd met them before. The rain pounded the roof of the bus, the hammering in Near's ears a testament to the quiet that had fallen between him and his hacker companion.

"I never expected anything from him," Matt said, as if he had never paused. "I suppose that's why he tolerated me. There was no standard with me, he never had to prove anything to me...With me, he could relax." Matt's eyes were far away as he continued. "He helped me get over my fear of going outside. In fact, he was rather petulant about it--obsessive even." He laughed, his mouth drawing up on one side as he thought of some amusing memory. "He shared everything with me. Gave everything he had." A great sadness settled over the hacker, and his shoulders hunched a little. Matt glanced at the urn held between Near's gloved hands. "He really did give everything."

What could Near possibly say? Nothing that wasn't either inane or disrespectful. Near opted to remain silent as Matt reached over and tried to lay his fingertips on the urn. His hand trembled as he neared it, but ultimately Matt snatched his hand away, a dark look making his face shadowy and unreadable. Near placed his own hand palm down on the urn, and reached for Matt's. The hacker resisted at first, but finally relented and allowed Near to press his hand against his. Near's gloved hand acted as a buffer between Matt's skin and the polished mahogany of the urn. Matt's eyes fluttered closed, and Near watched him carefully. When he opened them, Matt smiled appreciatively and withdrew.

As the bus traveled through downtown Matt lowered his head towards Near's. "You're generous too," Matt whispered into Near's ear. "I didn't know that before."

Near stared straight ahead. "It seems there is much we all do not know of one another."

~*~

Near knew one hundred and twelve languages fluently--even though he'd only had to speak a handful of them aloud so far in his career as L. So it was interesting, and even calming, to practice translating the multiple languages spoken around him in Panama's capitol city. He did it silently, working the words in his mind, sometimes deciphering multiple conversations simultaneously. Mostly, the people chattered in Spanish. There were conversations also held in Creole, Caribbean, and a few in French. Some were even held in English by the common folk, but mostly by the tourists. From what Near could gather, most of the city's regular inhabitants were Mestizo--at least seventy percent. The rest consisted of a melting pot of Amerindian, West Indian, Caucasian, Afro-Antillean and even Chinese peoples. Near and Matt had strolled by a Rabbi and his family too, speaking Hebrew in low, hushed tones. Near had paused, watching them pass, and thought of Yisheth.

It was a relaxing exercise, and it made up for the rather dull, blatantly staged marvels of Panama City's tourist attractions. Beside him, Matt often looked bored--but Near could tell he was watching everyone and everything, memorizing faces as well as ethnicities, debating possible threats and dangers in that private, quicksilver mind of his.

It was surprising, therefore, when a female voice trilled behind Near in a language he did not recognize at all.

"_Nuedi! Deguite be nuedi?! Be iguinuga_?!"

Matt registered that she was speaking to Near directly before the detective did, and the hacker pulled him instantly behind him, standing between the girl and Near. He resisted Matt's tug on his arm, but the hacker's grip was abruptly like iron. Near angled his head sideways, peering around Matt's shoulder as the girl spoke again, her tone excited as she spoke rapidly in her native tongue.

"_Acu am betogue? Be iguinuga?_"

The girl could almost pass for a woman, but Near couldn't believe she was older than seventeen or eighteen. Her face was round and dark, her black hair wrapped up in that red shawl he'd seen those two other women wearing earlier. Her black eyes were wide-set and bright, and she was pointedly ignoring Matt, staring straight at Near as she spoke.

She waved her hands animatedly and attempted to step around Matt. The hacker actually _growled_ at her then, shifted to compensate for her closer proximity, and spoke hotly to her in Spanish.

"We're not buying anything, thank you," Matt grated. "Please leave us alone."

She paused and glanced at him, her mouth turning down into a frown. She had a pleasant mouth, with the upper lip rounded like the bottom. She might have been pretty, Near thought, if it weren't for the unnatural set of her eyes. Her nose was awkward on her face too, which didn't help. Near hadn't noticed it until she frowned, that was how small it was. Near knew she understood Matt the first time, even as Matt repeated the statement in Creole and again in Caribbean. Her black eyes flickered back to Near, and she smiled enigmatically at him.

"_Niño de la luna_," she said in Spanish, her excitement bubbling over. Behind her, another elderly woman dressed similarly called to her in that native tongue. She turned to answer her, pointing at Near.

"_Takke sunna mimmi, Muu!_"

"Moon child?" Matt translated in English, his tone incredulous.

Behind him, Near met his glance with a dark look of his own. "Child of the moon," he corrected.

The girl fumbled with something inside a colorfully woven bag, and they watched her with perplexed expressions. Near was struck again by the familiarity of these women--they way they dressed, the way they spoke--and it began to frustrate him that he was pulling up a blank when he tried to remember. All his mind could offer was that he _should_ know.

The girl's blouse was bright and intricate, threaded with some convoluted design that made Near think of the images inside a Mayan temple. It was various shades of blue and white, and when she straightened, he could see that it actually made an image. It was a flower, simple yet complicated in its design. The paradox was intriguing.

She proffered two beaded things. When she adjusted them in her hands, allowing them to dangle from her fingertips, Near saw that they were something like _vambraces_. Strange, flimsy, beaded ones. The beads were small and red, except for the yellow and white ones that made twin designs in the center. He wasn't sure, precisely, what image those designs made. The girl stepped forward, smiling widely--even when Matt bodily blocked her from coming any closer.

Strange that her attention didn't unnerve Near. Strange that the only thing seeming to perturb him was the fact he couldn't pinpoint what it was that he should remember about this odd, indigenous people.

"Matt," Near said softly. Softly but firmly. "Really, she is barely more than a child."

"I've seen child soldiers younger than her tote automatic weapons," Matt hissed, speaking in Swahili for the added effect.

Near was unimpressed. He responded in Lingala. "Do those look like firearms to you?"

"Near, you're being careless!" Matt retorted, spinning around to glare at him.

"And you're being ridiculous," Near admonished calmly, the usual bite in his tone missing, replaced by something much more...familiar.

Matt noticed the difference, and his posture shifted. He looked away for a moment, and then stepped to the side, pulling out his wallet as he did so. "How much?" he muttered to the girl in Spanish.

She laughed, a bright tinkling sound, but otherwise ignored him. The girl approached Near, placing the items into one hand, and reaching for Near with the other. Near tensed then, but allowed her to lift his arm despite the strong instinct to recoil.

They were under cover of a banana stand, and the rain fell heavily only a few feet from them. The man who ran the stand stared at them curiously, but was selling produce to an old woman and otherwise paid them little mind. The girl's hands were cool and reverent as she pulled off Near's glove and pushed up his coat sleeve. She seemed unbothered by the near-translucency of his skin--almost as if she'd expected it.

She glanced up at him and smiled after she had fastened the first bracelet, and then moved carefully to his other hand, waiting patiently for Near to shift Mello's urn from one arm to the other. When she was done, she backed up several steps, murmured something he couldn't translate, bobbed her head a little, and then took off in the rain. Near and Matt stared after her. The man attempted to sell them bananas. Matt shook his head at him as Near put his gloves back on.

"That was odd," Near commented finally.

"Very. I didn't recognize the language she spoke."

"I didn't either."

"Can we go back to the boat now?"

Near shook his head at him. "North," he said.

He wasn't certain what was prodding him northwards. Near supposed it was a little like that strange sense of something coming Matt had experienced right before they were attacked in Garden Tomb.

Near wondered if it was an _impression_.

~*~

They meandered through a pedestrian mall, where Near noticed--and much to Matt's chagrin--more women dressed like the girl who had given him the arm beads turning to stare in their direction. After much griping by Matt, Near agreed to venture away from the crowded places, and the interested gazes of indigenous women. They stayed due north, barely pausing to glance at the French Embassy, sharing knowing glances as they passed graffiti murals depicting political protest, and stopping momentarily to admire a great cathedral that was crumbling around its majestic edges. Then they moved on.

North eventually gave way to the places in the city that wasn't meant for tourists. Slums and ghettos, entire neighborhoods where houses were made out of soaked cardboard boxes, dazed, bony Panamanians loitered this way and that through rain that fell in sheets...

They stayed close to the coast-line, and eventually found places on the water where abandon tugs lay half-sunken in the mud and downpour. Near speculated, as they moved on, what must have happened to force a sailor to abandon his ship in shallow water. A bus passed them, this one painted garishly in bright yellows, pinks and greens, Rastafarian music blasting through the windows. Matt chuckled.

Near was fascinated by the scent emanating from an orchard of citrus trees. Near watched bemusedly as a farmer shooed a family of monkeys that jumped nimbly from one bunch of branches to another. Banana fields were aplenty, too, and mango trees also. The smell was sharp, here, once they were more on the edge of the city--a deep, pungent scent that stung his nostrils. Matt stopped at a fruit stand and purchased some mangos. They ate them quietly under the plastic frame of a bus stop.

"I noticed you haven't been panicking lately," Matt commented, wiping mango juice from his chin with the back of one sleeve. "A month ago, you would've told me to fuck off if I even suggested going outside. Now you want to play tourist."

"I would never say something so coarse," Near disagreed in his usual monotone. "However, I probably would have found the notion disagreeable, a month ago."

Matt tossed the pit of his mango and fished out a cigarette. "I told you they'd get better."

"It seems you were correct."

Matt lit his smoke. "You seem to like it here."

"I prefer Wammy's."

"Why?"

Near shifted to look at him then. "Because its home," he said simply.

Matt seemed caught in his gaze, and his blue eyes bored into Near's. He looked away abruptly and cleared his throat. "It's getting late. We should head back."

Near stood, using the action to voice his agreement for him. He wasn't sure why he wanted to see this--this underdeveloped part of the world with monkeys and mangos and cardboard boxes used as homes. However, he felt a grave sense of purpose. He knew these statistics, the notions of poverty and dissent, even while the city proper put on a bright, smiling face to attract the commerce of tourism. He _knew_ the world, in his mind. Now, he felt he knew a little bit of it in his heart as well. He'd seen war in Israel, torture and death and heat and compassion...He'd observed a sense of family in Boston, been made aware of more dangerous politics by Danny-boy--who seemed to be playing a deeper game than all of them--and been exposed to the idea of _purpose_ by Mello, the phantom that pursued him; though whether he was merely a phantom in his mind he wasn't positive. Purpose...a notion so seemingly powerful that it would draw a dead man back from the void. What that purpose was for Mello, Near wasn't sure of either. He only knew now that it had absolutely nothing to do with ashes--and that Mello wanted him to keep it safe.

He _felt_ her before he saw her. It was very much like the sigh he'd felt move through him when he'd scattered Mello's ashes over L's grave in Japan, and then again in Israel, at Garden Tomb. The sensation like a soft breeze sweeping through his body instead of against it, the feathery caress that whispered along his skin. He turned in the middle of the road and saw her sprinting towards him, the girl that had given him the beaded arm bands. Behind her, half a dozen other women from her tribe ran after her, their colorful skirts sloshing in the mud.

Behind him, Matt cursed.

She was breathless when she skidded to a halt a few meters away, beckoning to them wildly with both hands, her red shawl askew around her soaked black hair. She was no longer smiling--and neither were the women behind her. A stream of foreign words fell rapidly from her round lips, her black eyes tight with panic and worry. She switched to Spanish mid-sentence.

"Moon Child, you must come! Come quickly, she is dying!"

Knowledge rammed into him like a blow to the gut. He remembered now.

"_Kuna_," he breathed.

"What?" Matt had pulled him back and was trying to get him to look at him. Near dimly registered Matt's cool fingertips at his throat, checking his pulse and worrying over the look on the detective's face.

Kuna. Kuna, the Amerindian tribe that resided on a string of islands along the Atlantic, Panamanian coastline. Kuna, the matrilineal tribe that existed in private, vehemently protected autonomy. Kuna, the tribe that spoke the endangered language of _Dulegaya_. Kuna, the people that bred thirty percent of the world's existing albinos.

A quirk in natural selection. Near dragged his eyes to Matt's, the black pupil wider than usual. "Homozygosity for a mutation in the P locus mapped to the human chromosome fifteen-q-eleven-point-two-dash-twelve results in tyrosinase-positive albinism," Near said in a dead voice, blinking slowly, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. Matt shook him. The girl beckoned to them. "Albinism has a worldwide distribution, with a prevalence of about one in thirty-six thousand among European-Americans."

"Near? What the fuck are you talking about? Dammit! Look at me!"

"Among the Kuna, the distribution of the oh-C-A-two gene maintains a higher prevalence of anywhere between one in twenty-eight and one in sixty-five hundred." Near's eyes focused abruptly and he inhaled sharply. "Depending on the island."

Matt released Near suddenly, his gaze ripping away to stare at the cluster of women that waited for them. A look of horror crossed his face. "Fuck me, what islands?"

"Kuna Yala," Near answered, his voice breaking. He felt ill. "Atlantic coast."

Matt stared hard at Near, a muscle working in his jaw. "Of _this_ country?"

"Yes," Near answered hoarsely, and turned to follow the Kuna women.

"No!" Matt scrambled forward and gripped Near's arm. "I'm getting you out of here _now_!"

High rates for hate crimes against albinos meant violence against the autonomous Kuna tribe.

_My fault_, Near thought miserably, and shrugged Matt off.

"I will _not_ allow a repeat of Israel!" Matt hissed angrily.

But Near wasn't listening. He was encircled by the women and led east. Matt followed, elbowing his way through the escort until he was once again by Near's side. They were taken quickly back to the eastern edge of one of Panama City's slums, and into what looked like an abandoned warehouse.

Inside, a group of Kuna men and women hovered over a body laid atop a blanket. There were several candles lit and two elderly women rubbed salve into the limbs of the native on the floor while a shaman sang in _Dulegaya_ by the head. The Kuna made way for Near and Matt as they approached. Matt swore colorfully when he saw the body.

Near experienced a piercing pain in his chest that he was sure would split him in two.

It was another female, this one older than the girl who'd given him the bracelets. She was battered and bloody, her _Mola_ stained and soaked with her gore. Her face was mauled, worse on one side than the other--as if it had been dragged against rough cement. Her eyes were swollen shut, and blood dribbled from the corners of her mouth.

Her right forearm was mangled, the bones poking through the skin and gleaming unnaturally in the candlelight. Her dress was soaked with her blood, darkest at the apex between her legs. Near saw that the men present were avoiding looking at it, and knew that she had been violently raped as well as brutally assaulted.

The girl's hair was snowy white, where it wasn't matted with blood. Her skin was pale, where it wasn't darkened by bruises and sun-sores. She was albino.

Near knew in his gut that this had been meant for him.

Albinos among Kuna were revered as elite and fiercely protected. Often, they became shamans and doctors, and some even rose to higher political power. The Kuna called their albinos 'Children of the Moon' and believed them to have special, magical powers.

A local Panamanian wouldn't dare attack a Kuna albino. The Panamanian government had once sought to suppress the Kuna way of life, but the tribe had risen up in revolt. It had been violent and swift, the Kuna rebellion in nineteen-twenty-five. They had been granted full autonomy since.

An outsider did this.

Near addressed the shaman, knowing that at least this one would speak Spanish. He knew, also, that ultimately this was why he was brought here. The Kuna would rise up if they thought this was done by a Panamanian. "I have reason to believe that this was not a local attack."

The shaman paused in his song, looking up at Near with a hard expression. Finally, the venerable man nodded, and resumed.

Near knelt by the girl's head, suspecting that even if her eyes weren't swollen shut, she still would not be able to see him. Amerindian albinos were notoriously blind. He set Mello's urn to the side, and pressed his fingertips to her cheek, careful not to harm her. She turned her face towards him, murmuring something in _Dulegaya_.

Near glanced up at the girl who had brought them here. "Does she speak Spanish?"

She shook her head, but knelt quickly beside Near, replacing the shaman's position by the victim's head. "I will translate for you."

"Have they sent for a doctor?" Matt demanded somewhere to the left of him. His voice seemed far away.

"They know she will die," Near murmured. "And they are far from home. It is not their way."

"Her name is Hani," the girl beside him whispered.

"Ask her if she remembers where she was when this happened."

Hani listened carefully as her tribeswoman translated, and when she answered, her voice wheezed and gurgled. The blood was in her lungs.

"She says she was by the river, rinsing out her shoes," the girl said. "I know the ones she means."

Near nodded. "Ask her if she remembers their faces, and if she knows how many attacked her."

More whispers in that language Near wished now he had bothered to learn, more gurgling and wheezing.

"She says there were four, that they had dark skin, like mine, but that they spoke in a language strange to her."

Near ran a hand roughly through his hair. "That does not help."

"Would you like me to say that to her?" The girl was frowning at him now.

"No," Near answered. He touched Hani's face again, noting the chill on the poor girl's skin. "Tell her that I am sorry. Tell her that I will hunt down the men who did this, tell her that I swear I will find them."

Near was not the only one surprised by the sudden, uncharacteristic vehemence in his voice. The whole room seemed to be staring at him. Near snapped at the girl. "Tell her!"

She did. Near rose, his limbs tense with his anger. He grasped Mello's urn and unscrewed the lid with five jerky movements. Then he plunged his hand inside and grabbed a handful of ashes. His heart thudded steadily in his chest, his breathing was slightly ragged, but controlled...his hand did not tremble as he allowed ashes to slip through his fingers above Hani's head. The ashes mingled with the blood in her snowy white hair.

_Do you think your story is the only one to tell here?_ Akhish had demanded.

Near replaced the lid to the urn, turned on his heel, and left without looking back.

Outside, in the alley, Matt caught up with him.

"Near?! Where are you going?"

Near stormed on, ignoring him utterly.

Matt followed, exasperated. "What, exactly, do you think you'll be able to _do_?"

Near whirled around, his feet kicking up mud-water and spraying it around him. His eyes were blazing. "I'm a _detective_," he snarled. "I ought to be able to do _something_!"

"Near," Matt sighed, closing the distance between them and grasping his shoulders.

Near instantly recoiled, struggling against him fiercely. "It's my fault!"

"You're _fault_? Oh, come on, Near; be reasonable."

Near shoved at him one-handedly. "If I hadn't exposed my albinism in Israel, if I hadn't--"

"What happened to that girl is _not_ your fault!" Matt shouted over him, shaking him roughly. "Near--look at me--Near, the men that attacked that girl could have been anybody. For all anybody knows, it was a couple of punks from bum-fuck, Wisconsin looking for a good time--" Near's eyes flashed angrily. "It's true, Near. Some people are monstrous like that. And even if it was--"

"I have to make this right!"

The fact that Near actually _yelled_ was more startling than his words, as far as Matt was concerned, and it took him a moment to recover. A split second later, he pulled Near into a fierce embrace.

"Alright," Matt murmured, holding him closely, Mello's urn trapped between them. "And we will. I promise you, Near, we'll find the people who did this, and we'll make them pay. But we'll do it _your_ way, the right way. We'll do it from Wammy's, when you're safe, when all this is over."

Near shuddered against him, a piercing heat pricking behind his closed eyelids. He was horrified when he realized he was weeping, and he buried his face into Matt's jacket until it passed. Above his head, Matt met the eyes of the girl from the market. She stood in the doorway, watching them embrace in the rain. Silently, she nodded once and returned into the warehouse.

Hani was dead.

At long last, Near had recovered enough to pull away calmly. Matt adjusted Near's hat atop the detective's head, stuffing his white hair beneath it and pulling up the collar to hid the strands that curled against his neck. Satisfied, Matt stepped back.

"The second we get back on that ship, I want Rester on the phone."

"Alright," Matt said, nodding a little. "To have him make the statement?"

"Yes," Near answered. "I fear I've waited too long."

"Don't beat yourself up about it."

"That's somewhat callous, considering."

"I'm just trying to make you feel better."

"Don't bother."

Matt regarded Near thoughtfully for a moment. "You know what's ironic about this whole thing?"

"What?" Near sighed, in a resigned sort of way.

"With the coat and the hat," Matt said, gesturing. "You actually do kinda look like a detective."

Near stared back at him miserably. "That's not funny."

Matt's mouth quirked. Finally, he offered his hand. "You're right. It's not. Let's go."

**To be continued...**

**A Few Notes:**

**Mello's Hoodie: **Inspiration for this came directly from the Jigsaw; the dude that mutilates people in the "Saw" saga. I've always thought the creepiest thing about that guy is that he always wore dark colors on comfortable clothes, and the hood for his jacket had that crazy red in-liner. Interesting note too, in "The Omen", in almost every scene that was alluding to the devil, or the devil's kid, there was something brilliant red. I'm pretty sure there's a technical term for that in film, but I can't remember what that is. I tried a similar idea here, because I didn't have enough narrative space to describe Mello's presence in every scene.

**Residual Energy and Lunar Mapping:** These are two ideas I've tossed around in other fics too. It has mostly to do with Astronomy and regular Physics, but some very interesting ideas have bled over into Quantum Physics. I won't dig too deeply with these concepts, at least not yet. I just used the science to help explain what exactly the "nothingness" was that Ohba and Obata referred to in the canon, and what the possibilities therein could be.

**Rain Season**: Fact; Panama has two seasons--wet and dry. The dry season is incredibly hot and humid, and takes place during our winter months...beginning roughly around September and lasting until early spring. The wet season begins in spring, and gets rather nasty until late summer when it begins to let up. Because of the nature of Panama's irrigation system, they build these massive ditches and weave them through even residential neighborhoods. On the plus side, it prevents flooding. On the down side, they're exceptionally dangerous. I had one directly behind my house, and I remember one day when the storming was particularly nasty, my mom went flying out of the house and jumped in the ditch because she saw a little boy fall into it. Imagine white water rapids, and then you have a general idea of the kind of force the water rushing through these ditches could be like. Mom got the kid out just fine, and I'll always remember that because, bless her, she's not the generally heroic, generous type. She made me proud that day.

**Languages**: The African languages I referred to here are actually a sort of private joke. Initially, when I first began forming the outline for _Scattering Ashes_, I wanted to send them to Africa instead of Israel in Arch Two. However, I couldn't formulated a decent enough link between Mello, Near and Africa. There was just no believable reason why Mello would send him there that I could think of at the time. Eventually, I switched the geography to the Middle East, and everything fell into place rather soundly. **Swahili** is a Benue-Congo language spoken by some thirty-five million Africans, and primarily in Tanzania. **Lingala**, the language Near retorted in, is a lesser known language spoken by about nine million people, primarily in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I use this as a subtle battle of wits between the two Wammy's prodigies.

_**Dulegaya**_ is the language of the **Kuna**. It's considered an endangered language because it is spoken only by the tribe, and therefore, by only about a couple thousand people. _**Dulegaya**_ is the joining of two word: "people-speak". With the help of my father, who speaks about four languages himself, and multiple dialects in Spanish, I was able to translate a handful of words and phrases in _**Dulegaya**_. That being said, the one word I searched for initially--_for two days!_--I could not find, and that was "moon". It's true that the **Kuna** refer to their albinos as "**Moon Children**", so I wanted to be able to have that said, in their language. I was able to locate the transliteration for "child", which is "_mimmi_", but I couldn't find "moon" anywhere. It was very frustrating. Anyway, my father was kind enough to give me "children of the moon" in Spanish (even though I had asked for "moon child"--which was why there was that funny little moment where Near corrects Matt's translation).

"_**Nuedi! Deguite be nuedi?! Be iguinuga**_**?!"**: (_Dulegaya_) Means "Hello! How are you? What's your name?"

"_**Acu am betogue? Be iguinuga?**_**"**: (_Dulegaya_) Means "Do you understand me? What's your name?"

"_**Niño de la luna."**_: (Spanish) Means "Child (masculine) of the moon."

"_**Takke sunna mimmi, Muu!**_**"**: (Dulegaya) Translates roughly as "Look, I found a true child, Grandmother!" --Again, I am in no way a linguist, so I could have very well butchered these transliterations, but I have it on good authority...:-p

**Kuna**: Fact. Everything; fact. Fascinating, huh? I had a nana in Panama who was Kuna, and remember being thrilled at the way she pronounced my name. There are some records that claim Kuna women do not often leave their islands, but that's not true. You are more likely to see, and recognize, a Kuna female than a Kuna male wandering around the mainland. Also, their culture is completely matrilineal--so aside for their reverence for their extraordinary high rate of albinos, the women pretty much run the show. Also fascinating is the short-lived rebellion of 1925. After Roosevelt showed up and began the Canal, the government tried to suppress all indigenous cultures because of the rapid popularity of Catholicism--that began when the Spanish invaded a few hundred years prior, but gained speed in the twentieth century. After the Kuna revolt, things changed rapidly and indigenous peoples were awarded full autonomy. It's amazing to me how a small group of seemingly harmless people could change an entire country in a matter of days.

**OCA2**: This whole bit was just basically saying that the OCA2 gene is what gives some animals, and in this case, humans, pigment deficiencies. I wanted to express that Near was sort of going into a numbing shock, because he realized what he wasn't remembering--that the largest population of albinos lived just off the eastern coast of Panama. And when he heard the girl saying to him that one of their tribe was injured, it all fell into place. He, himself, was the biggest clue. She had called him Moon Child, and sought him out after a fellow "moon child" was attacked. A friendly warning, you could say. The guilt he feels almost immediately following, I explained thoroughly in-narrative.

**French Embassy and political dissent in Panama**: I will only briefly make note of this, as its mention in the chapter was very subtle. The history of the Panama Canal is nearly a hundred years old. Summarizing, the original canal was planned for Nicaragua, utilizing a lake called Managua. However, a senator (and I forget his name, but I'm sure you can google it) passed around a mailing stamp to members of Congress at the time depicting the quite active, young volcano that towers over Lake Managua, Momotombo. They decided to find a different location for the canal, which was a good idea as the volcano erupted in 1905. Roosevelt's administration decided on Panama, but ran into a little problem as the newly-independent Panamanian government balked at the idea of foreign influence on their export/import commerce. In 1903, a French citizen, who had absolutely no right to sign anything on Panama's behalf, forged a treaty with the U.S. giving them full access and building rights to the area zoned for the Panama Canal. This embittered the Panamanian's, but they allowed it grudgingly. When political corruption began threatening the U.S.' hold on the Canal Zone, in the late eighties, George H. W. Bush invaded Panama, eradicating the ironically U.S.-financed dictator, Manuel Noriega, and dislodging the military-inclined dictatorship. Of course, they left within ten years--and it was during this time that I lived in this country--leaving Panamanians to pick up the pieces. Panamanians consider us imperialistic, and many are still even angry with the French, because of the citizen that let North Americans into their country. However, by the French Embassy, there is a monument standing, honoring the Frenchman Phillipe Banau-Varilla and his role in the construction of the Panama Canal. Surrounding it are angry murals and graffiti expressing citizen political dissent. I think, as a whole, that image speaks volumes for that country.

**Inuyashaluv04**: Thank you so much for your review! *grins* Yeah, Mello is confusing. He's always struck me as the sort who would change moods rapidly without provocation, and went to extremes when he _was_ provoked. I'm attempting to stay true to that here, making it clear that he knows something they don't. Also, I did not think he would be the same sort of person with Matt as he would be with Near--and it was fun to throw a wrench into that too. One would think that as a ghost, he would be calmer with Matt and more emotional and contemptuous with Near, as he was in life. And that's a clue, actually, to Mello's purpose in this story, that it's reversed. It's all deliberate, if you can trust me *laughs*, I can understand if you're wary though.

Ha! Near's opening line was hilarious fun for me to write. I imagined what Near would be going through in his mind during that chapter, what he would be think and feeling, what he would be telling himself as he searched for Matt on the boat. It was amusing to me to have something marvelously inane come out of his mouth when he decided to let Matt know here was there. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

I have not decided if L will make another appearance in _Scattering Ashes_ yet. I know he will have a few more cameos in the sequel _Becoming Human_, and a very interesting role in the final installment _Humbling Nations_, but for this, I'm still not sure. I could have him show up in the next arch, when they're California, if you'd really like. I did promise you cookies. *winks* Thanks again for your review, and I hope you enjoyed the update!

**Nebo**: Oh, goodness, don't stop breathing! Thanks for another review!

I am writing a few different novels. *coughs* Very different novels. One is somewhat like a modern-day Peter Pan story, written entirely in first-person--which, at times, makes me want to pull my hair out. Another is the first installment of a six-part saga, a fantasy/adventure where I full out attack Quantum Theory. Another is a biography project about my nuclear physicist hippie grandfather, and about what led to him working on the Manhattan Project, and what happened after--angsting it up a little with the sad tale of his late wife. And then there's a handful of fanfictions I'm currently engaged in, this one being the most fun--and simultaneously the most difficult. I'll let you know when I've got one or two finished. I go by "Gloria B." for pretty much everything, so in a year or two, hopefully, you'll see something by me in a bookstore. :-P

Ha ha. I'd been a little concerned about that too, redirecting the readers attention to melodrama while the technicalities of the main mystery hang back as an afterthought. But, like you said, I thought it was important after smashing so much together in "Soldier". And I felt it was a nice change of pace, a chance to let the reader breathe for a moment, before we plunge back in.

*laughs* D is Douglas "Deliverance" Dane, a character I created for a fanfic I'm working on with Doumi, _Thanks for the Memories_. His tiny cameo was sort of a 'wink-wink-nudge-nudge' to Doumi--and, now that I think about it, I don't think she even caught it. I do that periodically, in SA, because I don't think I would have ever boned up to write a DN fanfic if she hadn't turned me on to the idea with _Thanks for the Memories_ --or, at least, made me feel like I was even remotely capable of churning out something for DN that didn't make me look like a completely inept, bumbling fool. D's character is a lot like K in the sense that he originates from A's generation at Wammy's. According to our timeline for TftM, D has already graduated and earned a career for himself in 'the field' by the time Mello, Matt and Near show up at the orphanage. I'm tossing ideas around in my head for his role in _this_ story, and I think he might not actually show up until _Becoming Human_, the sequel.

"..._if anything, doesn't he need a successor more than L does?_" I thought so. *grins secretively* I hesitate to expand on this account, but thank you for liking the idea. It's...well, it's one of the more important parts of the story, as well as a vital clue.

Concerning Mello, **Inuyashaluv04** had similar questions, so I encourage you to read above. In further extension of what I wrote her (or him?), I will say that a great deal of Mello's...presence in this story, as well as his behavior towards both of them, have a great deal to do with the first scene of this chapter. I look forward to reading your thoughts on this account.

"..._It's like a masterpiece of miscommunication_." I...thank you! Thank you very much. Massive miscommunication is certainly the essence of that scene. And the last scene, with the ending dialogue, was great fun for me to write. I'm glad you get the sense of Near still being Near, but sort of maturing too. Makes me very happy that is getting across. Oh gosh! And yes! I picture both of them as very insecure. Matt's best friend is dead. Near's never had a friend at all. Matt used to be so sure of himself, never caring about the world at all--until he lost his axis. Near is used to being in charge, listened to, the one sitting at the head of the table, so to speak--and no he has none of that and has to rely on someone he really doesn't know. I can imagine both of them being ultra sensitive, extremely hesitant, and easily wounded. They're both bizarrely intelligent, but even smart people have feelings.

And yes, Matt is obsessively protective of Near. Ha ha, the attack on "nice" was inspired by a commentary by Christopher Lee, where he tries to describe fellow actor John-Rhys Davies and becomes irritated with himself when the first thing out of his mouth was "he's a _nice_ man", and then later declares "nice" to be a dreadful, mediocre word. I heard that commentary _years_ ago, but it's stuck with me ever since.

"..._There's just no apparent way for poor Matt to win_." You're absolutely right. Let's see...your musing in this segment was a tad bit confusing, but I think I got the gist of it. Going back to Matt's protectiveness, and the seeming paradox at Matt's notion of hoping Near would take off one day: It's not so much that Matt wants Near to leave, but he does care about him enough to want him to _know _how strong he is. And if he is willing to let him go so that happens, then he will. That's a lot like love, as far as I understand the notion of love. But don't get ahead of me on this account, they won't be professing undying affection or spouting sonnets any time soon. With love vs. integrity, yes, Matt's in a similar predicament, and yes, Mello seems to be playing both sides of the field--but remember, Mello knows Matt better than we do. And when it comes to what Matt promised Danny-boy for Near's safety...well, that's something that will be touched on later. The future, as Mello points out in this chapter, is subjective. I have to say, you're incredibly perceptive. I didn't think anyone would make that correlation yet.

It's exciting to have attracted such a thoughtful, interactive readership.

Thanks for the comment about lasagna and whiskey. I remember writing that and thinking it was one of the more organic moments in the story. These guys exist on such a high level of intelligence, that it's nice to bring them down periodically, to remind of what is _normal_. And that sometimes it's gritty and ugly.

Thanks again for the fantastic review! I had a lot of fun responding to it!

**Cu-kid**: Hi! Thanks for your review and welcome to the story!

"..._I find myself truly wanting to know about the motives behind each character instead of just wishing Matt and Near would get on with it_." I laughed so hard when I read that, pumping both fists into the air and shrieking "Victory is MINE!" Seriously, I feel like I finally broke through the 'will they just fuck already' barrier because of your statement, and that's extremely satisfying--so thank you! It did feel like creating something from nothing, because the characters I chose to work with we know very little about--I mean, on a personal level. Aside, of course, from Mello; but even he is mysterious enough to me to be fascinating in his own right.

"..._I find myself alternating between believing they really do see [Mello] and thinking he is just a by-product of stress/insanity/whatever_." Good. ;-)

I have to pause here to thank you profusely. I sort of went "Huh?" when I read the word 'agoraphobia' because I didn't recognize it. I looked it up and shrieked again. I hope you don't think less of me, after all those compliments, when I confess I hadn't known that was an actual, termed personality disorder. The panic attacks were something I'd considered, and decided to work with on Near essentially on a whim. But it's so...so perfect. In the next few days, I'm going to research everything I can about that. Gosh, I thought I was just bullshitting my way through that. Wow. Thank you!

I'm glad you enjoy the relationship building between the two, and the small gestures of intimacy that they share from time to time. I think of, a little, how children are. They can be brutally cruel, but if they see a single tear, they're all consoling--hugging and patting and holding hands.

Thanks again for your review, and I hope you enjoyed the update!


	12. Chapter 12

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Meaning  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: References to characters hinted to in the LA BB Murder Cases; though I give A a feminine connotation instead of a masculine one. Also references to Aiber and Wedy from the canon, and also references to conversations and scenes from during and after the Yotsuba Arch. Also I use terms and names from L: Change the World, but often I apply these characters to different companies and/or reasons for doing what they do.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi all! Happy Inauguration Day. *cue impish grin* Um. *coughs*

First and foremost, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Cu-kid for her most fabulous fanart, which you can find here '**.com/art/Scattering-Ashes-109655509' . **Thank you so much! It's so awesome!

Also, to Doumi, for another quick, incredible beta! I adore you!

This chapter took me forever because of its length AND because of travelling across the damn country mid-week to take care of my sick, dumb boyfriend. No, no, no; he's not twisted or stupid—he has bronchitis and he's a pain when he's sick. You know, the clingy sort. Ew.

So. Despite the late update, and the late hour, and this stupid migraine pounding in my head, I am very, very excited about this chapter. It's not really explicit, as far as slash goes, but I quite enjoyed writing it so I hope you enjoy reading it. Also, we get some tantalizing facts about K. Enjoy!

Yours**,**

**Gloria**

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Twelve

**Meaning**

"Datta: _what have we given?_

_My friend, blood shaking my heart_

_The awful daring of a moment's surrender_

_Which an age of prudence can never retract_

_By this, and this only, we have existed_

_Which is not to be found in our obituaries_

_Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider_

_Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor_

_In our empty rooms_

_DA..."_

**~From What the Thunder Said, "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot**

July 16th, 2013

Near looked almost ethereal through the sheet of rain that separated them.

Matt stood by the exit door on the other side of the deck, his seemingly never-ending post while Near crouched on a lawn chair under an umbrella, staring out at the city skyline and the Bridge of the Americas. Near had kept this vigil for almost ten hours already, and still hadn't moved. Matt knew the detective would address him when he was ready.

Yesterday, Near had been stiff, rigid in his overwhelming anger, as they made their way back through the city towards the cruise liner. On the other side of the detective, as they walked through the dock, Mello had appeared and also seemed curious about Near's behavior, sending furtive glances toward him and remaining oddly silent.

Near had made a beeline for the shower once they were safely back inside their room, while Matt secured the cellular grid around a cell phone he'd pick-pocketed off of a stranger. By the time Near had finished his shower, and was dressed, Matt had Rester's number dialing. He knew the number by heart. He knew every number by heart, when it concerned the new L. Near had accepted the cell without comment and turned away.

Matt could feel the chill of his haunt standing behind him, and they both watched Near as he paced.

"Rester," Near had said into the phone. "Make the statement now."

His entire body seemed to go tight and he paused mid-step, the snarl in his tone making Matt jump. "I _know_ what I _said_--do it now!"

Near shifted again, and Matt could see his face. His mouth was twisted into a ferocious scowl. "I do not _care_ if you're airborne, I want the statement made immediately...Wait, I'll negate that. Why are you in the air?" Near seemed abruptly incredulous, his shoulders moving forward slightly. "_Matsuda_ has a theory?" Near swiveled his gaze towards the ceiling, giving testament to how ridiculous he felt the Japanese police officer was, not to mention the man's theories. But then he straightened abruptly and sent the full power of his almost-black gaze towards Matt.

Matt had felt his blood run cold. This, among other very good reasons, was why he hadn't wanted Near to communicate with his bodyguards while they were completing Mello's will. Rester and Halle had impressive resumes and seemed incredibly loyal to Near, but Matt considered them stupid. They had Wammy's resources at their disposal, but wouldn't know how to properly handle them. They would bumble their way through half-sight and end up misdirecting Near. Which was a risk Matt hadn't been willing to take until after Near's incident with Abu Ghraib. Now it seemed like a necessary evil to keep Near out of trouble--but anything linking the Japanese police force, the former SPK, and Matt himself spelled trouble in large capital letters. Stupid people often came to the wrong conclusions, and Near already had an exceptionally difficult time trusting Matt.

"I see," Near had been saying as Matt became suspicious. "Well, make sure Halle is on her best behavior. Matsuda just recently became Chief of Police." A pause, Near rolled his eyes, and then turned away again. Near sighed. "Tell her that her insufferable maternal instincts are inappropriate and grounds for termination." Another pause. "I don't care Rester...Good. Within the hour, if you please. No. No, I will not. Four weeks, at the most. No. Rester, do not make me repeat myself. Goodbye."

Near returned the phone to Matt, his gaze as well as his thoughts elsewhere. Matt had dismantled the cellular as Near stood in the center of the room, twining a white lock of his hair around one finger as he lost himself inside his head. Then Near crossed the room, donned his coat and slipped his shoes back on. He'd left and went above deck without saying a word.

The swiftness of his departure startled Matt. It seemed as if the tables had turned. Near needed time to sort out his thoughts--Matt knew that feeling and could relate. It wasn't the first time that he had pondered the similarities in their temperaments.

"Was it K?" Matt had asked, knowing Mello was still close by. He could feel him in every cell in his body.

"You know I cannot answer that."

It was insanely aggravating what little Matt could do with his network aboard this blasted ship. He had only the one laptop, and couldn't bring himself to trust the internet connection the ship provided. He would not be able to find what was causing this rise in hate crimes against albinos until they were in California. Then he would hunt down the core of this problem and annihilate it. It was what he did for a living.

"Is there a warrant out for Near?"

"Matt..." Mello warned.

"Was it Danny-boy? Who is trying to kill Near?"

"Matt, I can't--"

"You're completely useless," Matt grated, dropping his head in his hands. "I wish you would just go away. I can't help him with you staring over my shoulder all the time."

"You don't mean that."

Matt raised his head, feeling miserable. "No," he amended. "I don't."

Behind him, Mello spoke again. "It wasn't Danny-boy, and K isn't trying to kill Near. I cannot tell you anything else."

Matt let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. That was good news. K was one of Quillish Wammy's oldest friends. If there was anyone Matt didn't want for an enemy, it was her.

Anything else, Matt could handle. And they were safe on the ship, where they would be for the next six days.

Eventually, Matt had followed Near above deck, finding him close to the back of the ship and staring morosely out at Panama City. It had been dark by then, and the lights of the city and the famous bridge seemed ghostly against the water. It continued to rain.

Ten hours later, Near still had not shifted even minutely. He barely seemed human.

Matt watched him from across the deck, a strange ache forming where the hole was that Mello had created, and _felt_ barely human.

The sun was coming up. Matt knew that not because he could see the sky, but because the storm clouds were beginning to seem a little greyer and a little less black. He felt sodden, even though the beams by the exit offered some protection against the rain. The humidity crept through the layers of leather and cotton of his jacket, and the moisture permeated along his skin. It reminded him of the few short months he'd spent in the Congo, renewing Watari's connections there. The jungle had a similar sense of suffocating moisture in the atmosphere, like one was breathing in more water than air. The heat was similar too. Uncomfortable, sucking the life right out of you through your pores.

Odd that it did not seem to bother the detective.

Matt thought better of Near, he found, for seeming to be so affected by the death of that girl. Before, it had frustrated him that Near seemed so callous and uncaring about the welfare of common human beings. He was very similar to L in that regard, the seeming indifference bordering on heartlessness. Seeing a face against the statistic had jolted Near--Matt had watched the transformation. Matt did not think Near had ever seen first-hand how barbaric and cruel the world really could be. It saddened him that this was how Near would learn that. By watching Matt nearly die in Israel, by being tortured in Abu Ghraib, by watching helplessly as an innocent bled and died inside an abandoned warehouse...

It worried him that the detective was convinced he was responsible for it. Of course, it was certainly a possibility that the Hezbollah had somehow made the connection between their albino hostage, and the renowned detective, L, that they had undoubtedly been sent for. However, Near had only been with them for two days, and barely that.

And Matt had been explicitly clear with Danny-boy that _nothing_ was to remain standing after the siege. Destroy _everything_. Danny-boy was many things, and one of his more outstanding qualities was thoroughness. Matt could not trust him completely, but he certainly could trust him for that. If the Hezbollah faction that had tortured Near made the conclusion that Near was L, and had sent that information to the third party that financed the excursion, then that would be a problem. A small one, as Matt would know where to begin his digital search and be able to find the financier to handle it.

It was, all things considered, absolutely nothing Near had to concern himself with.

Except that Matt, in his infinite carelessness, had brought him to the one city that had made that impossible.

Matt had thought Mello sent Near here because of his wish to see both oceans in one day. Now, he thought it had more to do with that alarming statistic. Thirty-fucking-percent of the world's population of albinos...

Matt did not think it was a coincidence. Mello, of course, could be insufferably close-mouthed when it came to what he claimed to know that Matt should. Mello said that his purpose was to guide, and not to interfere--which Matt considered a big steaming pile of bullshit. Mello did nothing but _interfere_. It seemed almost impossible to be alone with Near without Mello's glare at his back, or shoving him unwontedly into Near's nightmares, or encouraging them to hold hands--as if that made up for everything. As if that made everything okay.

Matt thought often that he and Near might actually get along if Mello wasn't driving him crazy. Near must think him bipolar, with how quickly his moods changed.

But perhaps...maybe it wasn't a friendship Mello was trying to prevent. Maybe it was the thing drawing them closer together, Matt and Near, that strange curiosity, that attraction that brought them too close, too quickly.

It frightened Matt--because it was the one thing he hadn't planned for. He knew he was lonely, but he'd been thinking lately that it had very little to do with why he was attracted to Near. Once his anger had diminished, once Mello seemed to back off, Matt could see that there were many other things that made him look twice at the detective.

For one, Near was startlingly perceptive and intuitively compassionate. Surely, he wasn't the 'Let's talk about it' type, but there were little things. Like holding Matt's hand while they chose Mello's urn. If Near hadn't been the strong one then, Matt knew he would have crumbled. He'd been so distraught, haunted by the notion of having to face the place where Mello died--had died alone thinking he'd lost Matt.

And even yesterday, Near had seemed to sense that Matt needed to try...to try and touch it, the urn that held Mello's ashes. It was weirdly calming that Near was his buffer between the grief at Mello's death, and the knowledge that, really, he was gone--ghosts be damned. Mello was gone.

It was Near who had saved him at Garden Tomb, when that Lebanese guerrilla very nearly killed him. It was Near who dragged his body to safety and ensured that he was taken care of. Twice. Matt wouldn't have thought Near capable of anything like that.

Strange things too, little things--authorizing the sedative, being unfazed by General Whitman, playing with Alexa...

Humoring the Kuna girl in the marketplace...

Distinctly human things, human decisions, motivated by emotion and not logic--Matt saw a glimpse of the hidden Near when he did these things, the one that the agoraphobia protected. A man who cared a lot more than he let on, a man that seemed a little wiser than his years, even if a little absurdly impulsive.

The fact that he was gorgeous was just...an asset impossible to ignore. Matt particularly liked him in burgundy. Made him look like he didn't really belong on Earth, like he was something _more_.

Professional boundaries seem to blur whenever Near touched him, or looked at him dead on, his gaze penetrating and piercing. Mello didn't help either--except when he was trying to. Mello had always existed on a plane of shifting rapidly from hot to cold and back again without blatant provocation. But whatever was drawing him closer to the detective was getting stronger, more dangerous, more potent.

Of course, Matt had no one to blame but himself. He'd started it.

It was eleven in the morning, by Matt's internal clock, before Near moved. The cruise liner was finally moving away from the dock, beginning its chug up the Pacific Coast of North America. The boat had loosed a trumpeting sound, marking the beginning of their new journey. The sound seemed to startle Near, causing him to visibly jerk in his chair.

Near moved his head slightly, as the city shrank a little on the horizon, working out kinks in his neck. Matt could appreciate that; his body felt sore all over from standing in one place for so long. He was hungry too.

Near stretched his arms and stood, keeping his eyes on the mouth of the canal. He ventured away from the protection of the umbrella nailed into the deck, to stand by the rail. The rain was lighter now, but only slightly, and quickly soaked the detective. After placing his hands lightly on the rail, Near looked pointedly over his shoulder.

Matt understood and moved forward, stiff joints popping in protest as he did so. He maneuvered through the rain, the water warmer on his face than he'd thought it would be, and took a new post beside Near. The city looked even smaller now. The ship was gaining speed.

"It's different seeing it, isn't it?" Matt inquired, knowing the answer already.

"Yes." Near's voice seemed hoarse, probably from the long period of disuse. Near sighed minutely, the little sound pulling at Matt's heart--until he reminded himself he didn't have one anymore. "I've never had trouble, I don't think, feeling like I am not _enough_. It is a disconcerting feeling."

Weird that he was having this conversation with Near. It was something Mello had constantly struggled with. Matt had never felt the need to prove anything to anybody, so the notion was a little foreign to him. "Is that how you feel?" The question was cautiously asked.

"Lately, very much so. I don't think I like it all."

"There was nothing you could have done to save that girl, Near."

A sigh. "I know that."

Matt frowned, concerned again that Near was blaming himself. "Well, worrying about it isn't going to make her any less dead." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Matt regretted them.

Surprisingly, Near didn't take offense. "I _know_ that."

"Then why can't you just let it go?"

Near turned to him then, and Matt was frozen by the scourging look in his eyes. "Why can't you let _Mello_ go?"

"Burn," Mello whispered in his ear.

Matt stepped back, feeling like he'd been slapped in the face. It was a perfectly fair statement, but it was wounding--and Near seemed to know it too, because the heat disappeared from his gaze and he looked away.

"I apologize. That was cruel."

"It was fair."

"Yes," Near said, his eyes on the shrinking city. "That is why I said it. But it was still cruel."

Matt considered reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, the sudden need for one burning in his belly. However, he decided it was too wet to try and marked the idea as futile. Near wasn't looking at him, so Matt decided to look away too. "It seems I'm not the best sort of person to help you feel better about this." Damaged goods weren't much help to anybody, Matt supposed.

"I told you not to bother."

"Yeah," Matt said. "But that's kind of what friends do."

"Friends." Near was looking at him again. "Is that what we are?"

Matt met his gaze squarely, determined not to shrink back at the eyes that seemed to see everything. "Yes," he answered simply.

Near dropped his gaze, and his eyes did this strange swiveling motion as if he was searching for something in his mind. Finally, he lifted them back to the horizon, a little half-smile curving his mouth. "Ah." Near blinked, and the almost-smile vanished. "I'm finding it equally difficult to be _comforting_..." Near seemed to stumble over the word. "...concerning Mello."

Near paused, a strange expression twisting his lips. He sighed again. "I never knew her. You knew Mello your entire life. Not precisely equivalent exchange, anyway. Hardly relevant, all things considered..." Near's voice trailed off and he made a small movement with his hand. "Relevance seems to be the name of the game, lately."

Matt watched the city become even smaller in the distance. "How do mean? Pain is pain, no matter which way you slice it."

Near was quiet for some time, and when he finally spoke, he seemed to ignore the question altogether. "Why did you kiss me?"

~*~

Matsuda, the current Chief of Police in Tokyo, met them on the airstrip by a half a dozen unmarked black cars, and Aizawa trailing close behind. He seemed buoyant, his usual excited demeanor causing him to fidget with the lapels of his uniform and a grin working to split his face in two. His promotion was a recent thing, the station of Chief of Police changing hands nearly every year since Soichiro's retirement as hardened officers buckled under the pressure. Matsuda seemed simultaneously eager and nervous with his current role in the police force, but Halle--who was somewhat fond of the ridiculous man--thought he might just be perfect for the job. Matsuda was nothing if not resilient. And as for Halle, she would be ever grateful to him for saving Near's life during the confrontation with Yagami Light as Kira. Quicksilver instincts like that overrode ridiculous exuberance in her book. He would do just fine.

Rester exited the jet first, and then held out his hand to aid Halle as she descended the narrow metal stairs, ever the gentleman. It seemed she and Rester were becoming closer, as they worried together over Near's secret absence, researching frantically every possible lead.

Wammy's archives left a ghost trail when concerning the elusive K. They were able to uncover a small photo and a first year syllabus with similar marks for a calligraphic 'K'. The photo was of a slender Asian child, four or five years in age, but no older then six. The girl stared at whoever took her picture in mild distaste, as if bored with the whole process. Even Mello had taken the moment to smile. The syllabus contained a schedule of classes with startlingly accelerated subjects--chemistry, biology, geometry and cellular anatomy. It seemed Wammy's had at least began breeding her as a scientist. Whether they continued on that route with the orphan was still a mystery.

Rester had sent the photo to the lab to ascertain when it was taken, and it dated at least twelve years prior to the former L's arrival at the orphanage. Rester and Halle had been confused when Near mentioned A's generation, unsure of what that meant. Apparently, there had been a student at Whammy's who was being trained as L before the Lawliet child, with another strange orphan called 'B for Backup'. A, as things happen, cracked under the pressure, and ultimately killed herself. If she hadn't, L might not have been L, and perhaps the renowned and feared letter would have been 'A'. The former SPK agents weren't sure what happened to B, as his trail disappeared just as thoroughly as K's.

It left them wondering what Quillish Wammy's original plan had been, during the first days of the operation. From what they understood, Watari had been fascinated by the Lawliet child and that was when Wammy's morphed from the innocent orphanage to a genius breeding camp that had nurtured Near until the succession. If Watari had been priming other children before L, then there was a deeper game being played here.

Subsequently, when they'd turned to interrogate Roger on the matter, the old man became abruptly close-mouthed. He would not disclose any information his old friend had decided to destroy during the final moments of his life--believing that if Watari wished it not to be known to even the chosen heir, then Halle and Rester certainly had no business knowing either.

Rester and Halle were in Japan because Matsuda claimed to have a theory about the woman who posed as the mortician overseeing Matt's body three years ago. Initially, Halle had been annoyed with Aizawa for telling anyone why she had been there, and what she'd discovered, at the Kameda Medical Center. But she understood. Matsuda was Chief of Police, and therefore it was Aizawa's oath sworn duty to disclose any information concerning the Kira case that had rattled the very foundations of their beloved country to him. Also, if Matsuda was intuitive, eager, and ridiculous, he was also trustworthy. L Lawliet had trusted him. Near trusted him. Aizawa trusted him. So too would Halle and Rester--to a point, of course.

Matsuda and Aizawa bowed to them as they approached. When in Rome...Rester and Halle bowed lower, out of respect for Matsuda's recent promotion. Matsuda beamed with pleasure.

"Congratulations," Rester murmured formally in Japanese. "I'm certain Tokyo will thrive under your protection."

Matsuda turned a little red then, the unexpected compliment from the usually silent man catching him off-guard. "Th-thank you! Oh! Welcome back to Japan! We've arranged everything for your stay..." Matsuda glanced between the agents, up to the plane, and then back at Aizawa. They shared a long look. When Matsuda turned back to them, his smile looked a little strained, an apprehensive expression sneaking into his wide brown eyes. "This way, this way..."

The ride to the police station was quiet, and a little awkward, as Matsuda forced inane conversation about the weather, current politics, his new wife's marvelous capacity for cooking...

Something had made him uneasy, and Aizawa, seated beside the Chief, was impenetrably silent. Rester matched his silence while Halle was forced to politely entertain Matsuda's attempt at conversation.

Once inside a secure room at the station, Matsuda immediately got down to business. The switch in his demeanor was a little shocking. He was nervous and fidgeting one moment, and then quite serious the next.

"Please sit," he said, gesturing to a pair of chairs on the opposite side of a table. Matsuda sat on the other side, Aizawa stood behind him. It felt suddenly hostile, and though Halle complacently sat, Rester mirrored Aizawa's protective stance standing. "I am concerned," Matsuda began, folding his hands together, "that Near is not with you."

"He's decided not to come."

Matsuda made a face. "I'm familiar with lies, Halle. Please do not risk our friendship with such trivialities."

Even though it wasn't technically a lie, Matsuda's point rang clearly between them.

Aizawa spoke, his voice just as quiet as it usually was. "It is interesting that Near would make a statement declaring war on the perpetrators for albino hate crimes."

Rester winced. That might have been over the top. He expected he might be fired the next time Near saw fit to call them.

"It is odd that he would care," Aizawa continued. "And we have not heard an update concerning the dead police officers here in Tokyo."

Matsuda's face tightened. He must be taking that exceptionally hard, as it was his men dead. "It is also strange that both of you would be here, but not Near. Before, one of you would always remain with him if he was not interested in traveling."

Halle tore her gaze away from Aizawa, whom she'd been glaring at and considered mutinous after their seeming camaraderie a few weeks ago, and looked up at Rester. They'd been caught.

Aizawa's quiet voice floated over to them once again. "Is he with the ghost?"

Halle looked back at Aizawa, remembering what she had told him about 'ghosts chasing Near'. She sighed, and then gambled. "Yes," she said.

It seemed it was Aizawa's turn to seem apprehensive, his blank stare turning stricken, and Matsuda's turn to look thoughtful. The expression looked almost comical on Matsuda's face.

"Is he _alive_?" Aizawa breathed.

"Yes," Rester answered. "We spoke to him this morning. Apparently, something transpired between them and now Matt is allowing him to contact us via phone whenever he wishes."

"But not at first?" Aizawa pressed.

"No, not for weeks," Rester answered. "And then the first call....well, he sounded like he was sneaking it."

"Of course he would find a way," Aizawa said dismissively. "Does this mean he went unwillingly?"

Rester nodded. "The hacker broke into our HQ and walked right up to the office, he bested Halle and I, and then Near went with him to avoid anymore violence."

"And you couldn't catch him?"

"No, he has military assistance. We saw him take Near away in a helicopter--but we don't have enough evidence to accuse the U.S. of aiding and abetting a kidnapping, and it wouldn't be wise anyway to reveal that he is missing."

"Yes," Aizawa said, nodding a little. "I can see your predicament. Does he not tell you where he is? Is this 'Matt' monitoring his calls?"

Rester and Halle exchanged a painful glance. "We have reason to believe Near...doesn't wish to be found."

Matsuda looked up then, his wide brown eyes slightly disbelieving at that statement. "Is he defecting?"

"No," Halle answered quickly. "Rather, he will come home when he's ready. He says he has something personal to do, something about a promise. It seems this Matt is actually helping him do it."

"Helping him...what? Travel?" That was Aizawa again.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Rester answered, and then shared another look with Halle. "We believe."

Matsuda had gone back to his musings, and now spoke around the hand propping his chin up. "How did he survive?"

"Who? Matt?" Halle let a little of her frustration rise to the surface. "We don't know."

"Near said he faked it purposely, that he'd been wearing a vest," Rester said.

"During the shooting?" Matsuda clarified, rolling his eyes toward him.

"Yes, according to a brief conclusion spoken by Near over the phone."

"I've seen the tape," Matsuda murmured. "He still would have had substantial injuries." Matsuda twisted in his seat to look up at Aizawa. "The way this Matt abducted Near seems similar to the way the killer entered the precincts..."

Aizawa nodded and Matsuda settled back in his seat, a perplexed look twisting his mouth. He motioned to Aizawa with a wiggle of his fingers. "Show them the file."

Aizawa produced a thick manila folder from the folds of his black suit jacket. He dropped it onto the table in front of Halle, where it landed with a dull thud. Halle reached forward and flipped it open.

Its contents catalogued an investigation for the death of a mortician some three years ago. Comparing the name against her own records, the dead doctor was the one that had been scheduled to perform the actual autopsy on Matt. The investigation had nearly been lost during the panic of the last days of Kira's reign, but very recently it was picked up again. Aizawa must have found the link after Halle had left those weeks ago.

The dead doctor had died of hypoxia, traces of ethylene in her bloodstream. She had been suffocated by the gas that was only toxic in very strong doses. Odd. Further into the file, Halle read that the chemical compound was traced back to--

"MCC?" Rester, who had been reading over her shoulder, looked up in shock. "K traces back to The Triad?"

Matsuda nodded absently, his mind elsewhere. Aizawa spoke instead. "Dr. Kimiko Kujo was employed as a scientist at Mitsubishi Chemical Corporation until the final days of Kira, when she disappeared. She was involved with a company called BlueShip, a financier of MCC. They dropped off the stock market around the same time. That's where the trail ends."

Matsuda scratched at the top of his head and squirmed a little in his seat. "Do you think she used the ethylene as a sedative?" he asked to no one in particular.

"The doctor was killed by the amount of ethylene in her oxygen," Halle disagreed, eyes skimming the file. "It doesn't say anything about her digesting it. To be used as a sedative, ethylene has to be dissolved in water--"

"No, no, no," Matsuda said, waving his hand. His eyes seemed more alert now, as if he were finally paying attention to those in the room with him. "I mean the other one. The one with Near, the one who wanted to die."

"Matt," Halle said, just as Rester corrected: "Faked his death."

Matsuda scrunched up his brows. "You said 'wanted to die'."

"I apologize," Rester said, a grim smile curving his lips. "My Japanese is a little rusty."

"Oh!" Matsuda suddenly straightened. "Well that makes a lot more sense."

Halle leaned forward. "How do you mean?"

"Well, obviously, the woman, Kujo, was in on it," Matsuda said, gesturing to the file. "Perhaps she helped him get better also."

~*~

"Why did you kiss me?"

Matt's answer was effortless and immediate, so Near knew he wasn't lying. "Because I wanted to."

"Is it so simple?"

Matt glanced sidelong at him. "Simple might not be the word I would use. Selfish might be better."

"Selfish," Near echoed.

"Yeah."

"Was I so terrible?"

Matt looked startled, turning fully to gaze at him. "No! Actually, you were pretty good."

"But nothing compared to Mello."

Matt looked a little like a fish out of water, the way his mouth opened and closed with no sound coming out. "I didn't mean--"

"Don't say you didn't _mean_ it!" Near suddenly snarled. He felt the anger boil up inside of him again. The frustration, the hurt. "It was first a thought, and then it processed through your brain, and came out of your mouth. Humans mean _everything_ they say."

"Okay, yeah," Matt said, rising to the challenge of Near's anger. "I meant it, and I meant it to hurt. I'd take it back now if I could, because it was horrible and I didn't think it would linger with you this long--but in my defense, you had put me in an impossible situation. You--"

"Tit for tat," Near dismissed, turning away again and glaring into the horizon. "You abduct me from my home, you harm my bodyguards, you force me to leave important cases unhandled, you withhold things from me, you use me against myself, you place me in the line of fire, you get yourself hurt, and then you leave me alone to figure out a way through the mess that _you_ put me in. In _my _defense, at least I only put _myself_ in danger to glimpse a little of the truth."

Matt was stunned into silence, before he abruptly hissed through his teeth and glared to the side. It was a strange reaction, but not one Near hadn't seen him make before. It was as if Matt was reacting to a particularly disturbing thought.

Or perhaps someone Near couldn't see.

He'd pondered that, during his vigil above-deck, while he wrestled with the torment he felt when he thought of that girl mangled and beaten to death because of the color of _Near's_ skin--or lack thereof as the case may be. While he pondered the mystery of Matt and everything that he brought with him, the tension, the desire, the protection of W...the danger too. While he pondered the Jack of Hearts, while he hypothesized about K, while he mused the origins of Wammy's Orphanage and the man called Quillish Wammy. It all, apparently, began and ended with him. Matt was his only heir.

Was Near an imposter at Wammy's if he did not have Matt? The notion disturbed him, because he did not think Matt wanted to ever come back. He never exactly reported in for duty. And Near did not want to be anywhere he did not really belong.

Except in one place--but that was in Matt's hands now. Near had resigned himself, in the past fifteen hours or so, to the inevitability of lust and curiosity; questions that might be answered if Matt would let his guard down, if Matt might see past Mello's memory and see him. Near would not beg for it. As much as maybe he'd like to.

Mello.

Near thought before he was just a phantom in his conscious, like L sometimes was. But L never conversed with him, L never touched him, L never worked to save his life or have him ponder mysteries of the world. L only urged him to pay attention. Mello began as a dream, and then started to visit him while he was awake in Israel. More frequently now, Near found himself drawn away from moments of solitude and quiet to debate logic and phenomenon with a man that died over three years ago.

If this thing was indeed some sort of material ghost, it might be more logical to assume that he was not the only one haunted. Surely, Mello would have more reason to be drawn to Matt. And Near had not envisioned Mello until Matt forcefully walked back into his life.

Of course, nothing would anger Near more than if Mello's shade played both sides of the field, and that _everything_ was just some sick, morbid joke. Mello would not have the last laugh. Near was determined; if Mello was simply jerking them around needlessly, cruelly, then he would find some way to enact revenge.

...He wasn't sure exactly _how _he would do that—as Mello was dead--but Near considered himself clever. He would think of something.

"Alright." Matt took a deep breath. "That's fair. Alright. Tit for tat."

"This is a dangerous game you and I play."

"It is," Matt agreed. "No more games."

It was interesting how yesterday Near was so resolved to wait--to wait and see how things might play out with him and Matt. Yesterday, his pride made him balk at the idea of giving in to the tension between them, because he did not want to be a substitute for someone Matt thought was better.

"What's it like?" Near asked, his voice not quite flat.

"What's what like?"

"Intercourse. I know the technicalities of such behavior, but the experience is foreign to me."

Matt turned an interesting shade of red, his eyes going a little round. "Near, are you sure want to have this conversa--"

"Yes."

The rain was lightening, a mere drizzle now. Panama City had all but disappeared on the horizon, nothing but a speck in the distance.

"I--it's...well..." Matt struggled, his hands clenching the rail just as tightly as Near's. "Shit. Um, well, it's a little like dying."

Near laughed a little, barely a stirring of the air around his mouth. "Shakespeare called it the 'Little Death'."

Matt seemed lost in thought for a moment, his eyes averted, his face still a little flushed. "It's a little like hyperventilating, a little like panicking...your heart's racing, you're sweaty, it's unbearably hot..."

Near knew his face had softened, because Matt was staring at it now. He quickly focused on smoothing his expression. He met Matt's gaze; Matt looked away.

"And then?" Near pressed.

Matt bit his lip and shrugged a little. "And then you die."

"There must be _something_ to it," Near said, somewhat irritated. "I've experienced panic on more than one occasion, and I don't find it pleasant at all. I was under the impression that it was addicting--"

Matt laughed bitterly. "Dying is easy. Living is harder."

"I still don't understand."

"Experience isn't something you can read in a book, Near."

Near felt the anger stir again. He gave Matt a pointed look.

Something shifted in Matt's demeanor. His eyes became lighter, the lines around his mouth disappeared, his shoulders relaxed. He seemed to understand something better now. "It can be painful, between men." Simple words, but they seemed to mean a great deal to the hacker.

"It was painful between you and Mello," Near clarified, curious at the sad expression in Matt's eyes.

"Sometimes." Matt scratched at some invisible blemish on the back of his wrist, his eyes going distant. "Mello was not only violent with you."

Mild irritation blossomed into wrath, twisting like a snake in Near's chest. The first thing he thought was, _That is why_. Matt was used to submitting to the whims of a barely stable sadist. But then it made less sense, because Matt was very fond of Mello. Matt loved Mello. Could violence really create that? Near didn't understand that at all.

But he thought maybe that was why Matt hesitated with him. Near could become angry; indeed, that was one language he understood quite well. Even now, he felt at the end of his wits, a little desperate for something to release it all into. The helplessness, the frustration, the burning anger that boiled inside of him. Near could be angry, but violence was somewhat foreign. That wasn't something he needed to reign in. Only when he'd been pushed to the very limit of his sense of self-preservation has he been violent, and even fatally brutal. But only then.

If that was what Matt was used to, which was a little frightening to Near, then could he summon that part of him at will?

But Matt didn't even seem the submissive type. He was angry all the time himself, a little wild, a soldier. It was difficult for Near to imagine, but then he remembered how utterly _crazy_ Mello had been in life, and he thought maybe he could. Maybe Mello loosed his sadism on Matt because he knew the hacker could stand up to it, could handle it, could fight back. Maybe he wasn't submissive at all. Maybe it was equivalent exchange.

And then it hit him.

Equivalence.

Exchange.

_Release_.

Logic had nothing to do with it, not really. He knew that as he reached out and grabbed a fistful of Matt's shirt. It wasn't the sort of thing that could be rationalized. It wasn't rational the way Near pulled Matt against him, with how hard their chests slammed together it was painful. It wasn't about being smart or safe. Surely there was nothing careful about the way Near jerked at the back of Matt's neck and pulled his head down. Maybe it could be methodical or thoughtful, but not this time. Not this time. Near pressed his mouth against Matt's, feeling teeth smash against his lips and cut into the soft flesh there.

It was about equivalence. It was about an exchange. An exchange of energy, hurt and passion. It was a release.

Dying was a release, too.

Matt's mouth was hot and wet. Generous. Perfect. His mouth made up for everything Near wasn't sure how to do. Matt's arms were around his waist, his thighs moving against his, backing him up until his back was pressed against the rail. Close, warm, wet. The sodden clothes they wore were a little uncomfortable between them, but Near's mind was fuzzy and could not formulate a plan to rectify the situation.

Matt sucked Near's lower lip into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth a little before sweeping his tongue inside. Gliding, slick, _wet_. Near felt a heat churn in his belly, felt the organ between his legs stir and begin to swell. Matt pressed him closer, fitting against him limb for limb, becoming a part of him, an extension of him, and his mouth kept moving over his. Not quite slow, not quite rushed. Near felt Matt's hands creep into his hair and tug. His head gave with a groan, exposing his throat, pressing him almost backwards; Near wasn't sure which tongue in his mouth was his anymore.

And then another tug on his hair, this one painful, this one final. Matt tore himself away, a horrified expression wracking his gaze, his hand covering his mouth. He stepped away several paces. "Not like this," he whispered behind his hand.

Near's mind was still somewhat blank and it took a moment to register the absence, the cold, the reason why he was leaning forward and his heart clenched with the sense of loss. "I don't understand."

"Not like this!" Matt hissed, his hand coming away from his mouth, his lips a little fuller than usual, the color a little darker. His eyes blazed with some unfathomable emotion.

Even as the hurt settled in, Near saw the tousled array of his auburn hair, the bright look in his eyes, the fullness of his lower lip, and thought he was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

It only made the hurt cut deeper. "I'm sorry," Near whispered. "I'm sorry I'm so repulsive to you. I'm sorry I cannot be Mello for you." _I'm sorry I misunderstood_.

"Near, no, wait!" Matt moved towards him, but Near could be swift when he wanted to be. He maneuvered around him quickly, and was through the exit door before Matt could say anything else to him. He was still speaking as the door swung closed behind him and Near began to descend the stairwell, but it did not sound like he was addressing Near anymore.

"You fucking asshole, how dare you? I don't owe you a goddamn..."

Near closed his eyes briefly as the door swung shut with a dull slam, muting the rest of the hacker's rant. He paused mid-step and turned, peering through the Plexiglas. Matt waved his hands animatedly, cursing at someone who was not there.

Near felt a fresh wave of hate move through him. Mello.

Somehow, all along, Near had known. He knew that because it did not surprise him. _Cruel, Mello. Even for you, this is cruel_.

~*~

"Perhaps she helped him get better also."

"Well," Halle said slowly, working to keep her tone polite. "We'd…already thought of that."

"Oh, well, good." Matsuda smiled brightly at her. "We're on the same page then."

Aizawa shifted minutely. Rester's heavy brows scrunched together. Halle cleared her throat. "Perhaps," she allowed. "Respectfully—and just for clarification's sake—did you have anything further to add? You did say you had a theory."

Matsuda looked at her like she'd grown an extra head, confused that she was confused. "Well, obviously, your Matt character didn't kill my officers."

Halle blinked. "Pardon?"

Matsuda frowned and glanced again at Rester. "You did say 'faked' his death, yes?"

Rester nodded slowly.

Matsuda looked between Rester and Halle and back again. "Why would this Matt seek revenge on people whom he orchestrated into shooting him? That makes no sense."

Halle sat back in her chair, lifting her eyes to Aizawa's face. He was looking at his Chief.

"Dr. Kujo would know him enough to mimic him, if she knew him well enough to help him…three…years…ago," Matsuda continued, his words slowing as doubt crept into his voice. He opened his mouth to finish, but then closed it, the excited spark dimming in his big brown eyes.

Rester abruptly inhaled. "K was trying to warn Near!"

Matsuda brightened again, lifting his hand in Rester's direction and nodding.

Halle straightened. "That's why she chose those victims! Because it would tie Matt to her warning, and she knew this case would get Near's attention—"

"—But the warning came too late—"

"—How did she know Matt would be coming for Near?"

"Well, surely she had him followed. K's been doing this as long as Watari and Roger. She's a pro at this game--"

"—But _what_ game?"

"That's what scares me, Halle. There's still a lot we don't know. What would scare K enough to kill all those people just to warn Near?"

"Why didn't she just call him? Why on earth would she go to such extremes to get his attention?"

"Maybe it has something to do with your network," Aizawa offered.

Halle and Rester fell silent, having forgotten they had an audience. Matsuda was grinning ear to ear.

"What?" Halle demanded, eyeing Matsuda's grin.

"You keep calling Dr. Kujo 'K'," Matsuda said, squirming in his seat. "Does this mean she's from…from where L originated?"

Halle groaned and kicked Rester under the table. They had to be more careful about what they said in front of these two.

"You said something about a 'network'," Rester said, directing his attention to Aizawa.

"Hey," Matsuda protested.

"What did you mean?" Rester pressed, pointedly ignoring Matsuda.

"Well," Aizawa said, sending an apologetic look Matsuda's direction. "When L needed extra assistance, he brought in a pair of specialists—"

"Aiber and Wedy," Matsuda interjected.

"Yes, and L had said they'd been useful to them before."

"'Them' as in L _and _Watari?" Halle asked.

Aizawa glanced down at Matsuda, who looked distracted again but was aware enough to meet his eyes. "That was the impression I was under," Aizawa said.

Halle looked at Matsuda. "And you?"

Matsuda shrugged. "Watari…we always knew less about him than we did L. He was like his shadow…Kindly sort of fellow—"

"Hell of a shot though," Aizawa remarked, remembering when he had returned to the investigation team in time to help take down the Yotsuba Kira. The look he and Matsuda shared was longer this time. "And resourceful," Aizawa added like an afterthought.

"So, just to be clear, you think K was part of L's network like-like…"

"Aiber and Wedy," Matsuda repeated, still sharing a silent conversation with Aizawa. Matsuda tore his eyes away and smiled wistfully at Halle. "Wedy was very beautiful."

"I'm sure she was," Halle said. "What did they do?"

"They were criminals, actually." Matsuda grinned again. He seemed to enjoy remembering his time with the investigation team. It was a tad unsettling. "Wedy, L said, was a thief and Aiber…Aizawa, what did Aiber do?"

"He was a con man."

"Ah, well, there you have it. Thank you, Aizawa-san."

Rester spoke an aside to Halle. "Having a homicidal bio-chemical scientist as well wouldn't seem too far-fetched, considering."

"Hm," Halle grunted back. "If K did not have the usual means for contacting Near, what would that mean?"

"Probably that the network communications were destroyed by Watari too as he was dying," Rester answered. It had been very difficult for Near and Roger to recover enough files to pick up the case for Kira again after L and Watari's death. Near never complained about it, but he had once flippantly remarked that this was why it had taken him years and not weeks to take down Kira. Watari had destroyed _everything_.

"Rester," Halle said, before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I think you had it right when you said K was scared, when she was trying to warn Near."

Matsuda nodded in agreement, his expression suddenly grave. "Murdering my policemen as a warning to the current L about the existence of a man assumed dead is extreme. What would make her so desperate? Exactly how dangerous is this Matt individual?"

~*~

"You fucking asshole, how dare you? I don't owe you a goddamn thing!"

Matt had whirled on Mello the second Near swept into the stairwell, an awful despondent look in his eyes. Matt hated that look. It made him so angry he could scream. It was worse that he had put that look there because he'd pulled away. Matt hadn't wanted to, but he sure as fuck wasn't going to make out with Near with Mello whispering in his ear about betrayal.

That would be way too fucking weird.

Mello was smirking at him, the prick. "Its 'cause he's L, isn't it? Gets you off."

"Oh, _please_; you were the one panting after L, you deranged piece of shit!" Matt snarled. "'L this, L that', for _years_, Mello. You'd get hard just thinking about him!"

Mello's brilliant green eyes flared. "So this is revenge?"

"_This_ has nothing to do with _you_, Mello! Jesus!" Matt threw his hands up, exasperated. "And it has nothing to do with _letters_!"

"Then what?" Mello demanded. "Why _him_?"

"Don't you fucking throw that into my face either, goddammit," Matt grated, jabbing his finger in the direction of his haunt. "You sent me to him—"

Mello scoffed. "You still don't fucking get it. What part of 'coded for Near' don't you understand? _You_ were never meant to receive that stupid will. _You_ were supposed to be _dead_."

That knocked the wind right out of him. The hole in his chest opened up, sizzling around the edges. Matt's shoulders slumped, his body's attempt to curl in on the pain. "How was I supposed to tell you, Mello?" Matt whispered. "I could never be W for you. You weren't stable. You…you turned into a monster."

Mello's scowl lightened to a frown. "I could've changed. I was trying—"

Matt shook his head minutely, cutting him off. "People don't listen. People don't care. People don't change. Remember who taught me that."

Mello had. Mello glanced away.

"After everything," Matt murmured, working to keep his voice level above the roar of pain in his chest. "After everything you put me through, I can't believe you would deny me this _one thing_. He makes me feel human again. Like I have a reason for not being as dead as you. Because you _are_, Mello. I'm fucking sorry for it, but you're _dead_ Mello. You're fucking _dead_."

"Yes, I am."

"And I…" Matt swallowed. The agony ripping through him was unbearable. He fought with himself to look up at Mello. Finally, after a full minute of struggling with his shame, his guilt, his grief, he did. Mello's face was unreadable. His eyes were burning. "I _want_ him," Matt whispered.

Mello was quiet for a long time. His burning eyes began to dim, and then darken. They were a sad jade color when he spoke again. "I would have given you anything."

Matt had to fight to not be a coward. He had to fight to not look away. "That's all I want."

"He'll hurt you. He won't know what to do to keep you."

Matt laughed softly, sadly. "Mello, it would be impossible for him to hurt me any more than you have."

Mello nodded, knowing it was true. He sighed. "I knew this would happen. I saw it. I didn't think it would hurt. I didn't think I _could_ hurt anymore."

The ripping pain in his chest heightened to a new level. "Mello…"

"I think I miss you more, now, than you miss me."

"Never," Matt breathed, taking a step forward. "Whatever happens, that will not ever be true. Ever. God, Mello—you should have _listened_ to me…"

"Yeah, I know. People don't listen." Mello looked away for a moment, and then back again. He seemed about to say something, but then decided not to. He waved a little and then faded.

Matt watched him go, wondering at how the pain ebbed as he went.

"Thank you," he whispered, and then bolted to the door and flung himself down the stairs. He raced through the ship, praying that there was still time to convince Near not to hate him. To explain…

The thought brought him up short in front of the door to their room. Explain? Explain what? That he was insane and had conversations with his delusions?

Matt gulped down a lungful of air and swiped the keycard, urgency overriding his trepidation.

Near sat on floor in one corner of the room, shuffling a deck of cards. He was curled in on himself, one knee propped under his chin. His head was bent over his task until Matt burst into the room. He had changed his clothes, wearing now a pair of loose sweats and a white cotton shirt. His curling white hair fell precariously into his dark, guarded eyes and all around his face. His face gave nothing away.

Matt could feel his eyes on him as he shut the door and shrugged out of his jacket, but Near looked away when he turned back. For a long moment, the only sound inside the room was the cards shuffling between Near's slender fingers and the quiet groan of the ship as it churned up the coast.

"Near." Matt winced at the sound of his voice. It sounded like breaking glass. Near didn't look at him. "Near, I'm…there's…there's something wrong with me. I have-I have visions. I see…"

The shuffling paused. Near became very still.

Matt took a step forward, his anxiety making him tremble. Near was going to think he was crazy and demand to be taken home. The thought made him ill; but it was better that than Near thinking Matt didn't want him. He had to know. "I see Mello. I…He says things to me, I can drown him out sometimes but…"

Near was looking at him now. Then he did something very strange. His dark eyes skittered around the room, narrowing at certain shadowy places, and then returning to Matt's face. "Is he here now?"

Matt was taken aback. The response made him think about a conversation he once had with Mello when he was still alive. Mello had told him of when he shared information with Near about the existence of death gods. Mello said Near hadn't batted an eyelash. "No," he answered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "No; I…I sent him away."

Near straightened the deck of cards and pushed it away, keeping his eyes trained on Matt's face. Matt felt every insecurity he'd ever had rise to the surface and become exposed at the beckoning of those eyes. The twin abysms, the dead sun-stars in the great void. God, they saw _everything_, didn't they?

"Why would you do that?" Near's voice was flat, inflectionless.

Matt forced himself to breath. If he didn't concentrate on it, he thought he might forget. "Because I'm selfish. I don't want an audience. I'm not a spectacle, and neither are you."

Near continued to stare.

Matt took another hesitant step forward. "Because there isn't room for three. Because I don't want him in my head when I'm with you."

That seemed to have an effect on the detective. He blinked once, and then stood. "He must consider it a betrayal," Near said, his monotone voice moving smoothly through the still air.

Matt hesitated. He wasn't sure if Near was just humoring him to keep him calm or if he was actually taking him seriously. With anyone else, Matt would think standing was going on the defense. But this was Near, and Near was very similar to L. When danger was present or they felt threatened, they curled in on themselves. Standing was exposing himself. "I told you before I don't have a grounded sense of right and wrong," Matt murmured. "It might be wrong to want you—you of all people—but I don't care, not really."

Near tilted his head to one side, regarding him solemnly. "You want me."

Matt nodded, feeling a little fevered. He took another careful step forward. Near was within arm's reach now. "I don't want you to ever think you repulse me. I…" Matt laughed a little, but bit it off quickly, feeling the wave of hysteria wash through him. It was such a ridiculous notion. "I don't want you to be Mello. I don't want you to be anything."

Matt reached out and ran his fingertips over the smooth angle of Near's cheekbone. Near allowed it, his lids flickering somewhat, like he was fighting to keep his eyes open. Matt moved in a little closer, sliding his hand until his palm was flat against Near's cheek, curved to fit his face. His fingers twined into Near's soft hair. "Do you believe me?" Matt whispered. "This will never work if you don't believe even that."

Near's eyes fluttered closed and Matt could feel the pressure of his eyes leave him, there was such a weight to them. Near's face turned into Matt's hand. His eyes opened and Matt was staggered by the clear, pale blue color of them. The pupil had retracted, leaving the striking color behind, like a clear winter sky just after a fresh snow.

"I believe you," Near murmured.

Matt felt the tension leave him in a sigh of relief. He felt himself uncoiling as he pressed his brow against Near's, moving his hand against his cheek, memorizing the contours of his face and throat with his fingertips.

Matt felt Near's hand settle on his hip and then move up under the hem of his shirt; hesitant, slow, just as careful. The warmth of his palm against his skin made Matt light-headed. Near's other hand pressed against his chest, his fingers splayed and barely moving.

Matt lifted his head to press a kiss against Near's brow, and then the tip of his nose, and then side of his throat. He inhaled, memorizing his scent. He lifted his free hand to cradle Near's head as he dipped lower and pressed a kiss just under his ear. He molded his mouth around the lobe and Near hummed a little in his throat. Matt moved closer as the hand on his chest moved up to his throat.

Matt remembered this. He waited for Near's fingers to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. He waited for the slight pressure of Near's fingertips. He lifted his head and pressed his lips against Near's hot mouth.

Careful, gentle, Matt's kiss was so _careful_. Near's lips moved under his, setting the pace. Near's mouth opened, his tongue hesitant and darting. Matt's tongue rose up to meet his, expertly tangling with his, swirling, dancing. Near sighed into the kiss and Matt lost himself in the taste of their commingled breathing, the scent invading his nostrils, the burning heat coiling in his stomach. His phallus twitched, impatient and cramped in the tight confines of his jeans. Matt ignored it.

Infinitely patient, infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing…

Matt knew better than most that the pain of an injury can more often pale in comparison to the pain of what it takes to heal. He recognized it now at how the beating thing in his chest swelled as if it would burst, hammering against his ribs so hard it was sure to break them. He felt desire race through his blood like acid, burning his veins and swirling around the scars of his legs and arms. He felt the ache in his side protest, stretching across his ribs. He felt the hole in his chest recede in a dull throb, washing in and out like the ebb and flow of the surf.

Near's hand moved further up his shirt, his fingertips dipping in and out of the angles of Matt's abdominal muscles, causing them to quiver and strain. Matt groaned into the kiss, his fingers curling more tightly into Near's feather-soft hair. He sucked Near's lower lip into his mouth, trapping it between his teeth, relishing at how warm Near's gasp was against his face. Matt released it with a small kiss, and Near pressed closer, tightening his grip on the back of the hacker's neck so he could plunge in for another deep kiss.

It came as a sudden shock to Matt when he realized Near was straining to be just as careful with _him_. Near trembled with restraint, but kept his grip firm on his neck, as if he were afraid Matt would slip through his fingers. Matt groaned at the abrupt onslaught of aggressive lust that surged through him.

Near seemed like a fragile thing, slender and pale and always curled in on himself. But he wasn't. Matt knew no fragile thing could pick up a pistol and kill someone. No delicate creature could wrench a hammer away from his attacker and smash his face in, and then rip another's throat out in the same swing. No weak person could kiss him as fiercely as he had above-deck, as forcefully, as possessively.

Matt had turned Near and slammed him against the closest wall before the thought fully registered. Near panted against his mouth as Matt lowered his hand and snaked it around the detective's thigh, using his grip to hoist him up. He wrapped Near's leg around his waist and surged his hips forward, his swollen phallus straining against his jeans and pressing against the detective's own hardened length, more pronounced in his sweats. Near gasped, the hand beneath his shirt disappearing to clutch at Matt's shoulder. Near's grip against Matt's neck was like iron. Matt pressed his hips forward again, burying his face into Near's neck and moaning when Near lifted away from the wall to meet him. Matt pressed in again, and Near's hips push against him. Matt kissed his throat, running his tongue along the vein, tasting the salty sweat on his skin, feeling his pulse jump. He pressed in, rotating his hips. Near moaned, and pushed back.

Near abandoned his grip on Matt's neck, sliding his hand up Matt's arm, where it braced them against the wall. Their fingers entwined, sweat-slick and gliding. Matt lifted his head, surging his hips forward, and swept his tongue into Near's mouth, having opened mid-gasp. Heat sure to catch them afire built between them, meeting over and over again as they pressed and pushed and surged, building, cresting, and unbearably _hot_. Matt's kisses were all over Near's face as the detective's movements became erratic.

"I can't…Matt, I can't…" Near was trying to say.

"It's alright, Near," Matt whispered, panting into his ear. "Let it. Don't think, just feel. _Let it_."

Near jerked beneath him, and Matt lifted his head to watch his face as the little death claimed him. Startled wonder made his wintry blue eyes go wide, his mouth open but no sound coming out. His body tensed into a spasm and jerked twice more before it melted bonelessly against Matt. The look on Near's face was enough for Matt, he surged his hips into Near's a final time, burying his face into the detective's shoulder and shuddering as he came. Their entwined fingers tightened briefly, and then relaxed altogether. With a collective sigh, they slid, still wrapped around each other, down to the floor.

A half hour later found Matt's head cradled in Near's lap and the detective running his fingers aimlessly through the hacker's damp hair. It was very quiet and Matt felt drowsy, his limbs heavy and the fingers in his hair lulling.

It wasn't long before he slept. For once, he did not dream.

**To be continued…**

A/N: **The Triad** is actually a term referring to the three more powerful bio-chemical corporations in the world. Europe is the largest, the U.S. comes in second, and Japan is third. These monster corporations make **The Triad**. **MCC** is the largest in Japan, and has a headquarters in Tokyo—however; they have plants and offices all over the world as well. Currently, and this something I found interesting, an **MCC **plant in Japan had to shut down because of a scare with their **ethylene **production. (As a side note, the largest producer of **ethylene** in the world is Iran.) I'm super tired, so I won't break it all down for you here, but the gist of it is these chemical plants are trying to create energy—and other things—from **ethylene** by super-cooling it and super-heating and then super-cooling it again. However, when **ethylene** is too hot, it becomes rather combustible. So when I read that **ethylene **was at the core of why **MCC **was having some trouble with their plants, naturally, I became inspired.

In 'L, Change the World', K is actually a scientist working in an 'Infectious Disease Center'. If it weren't for the yummy abundance of L-candy, I would have despaired at how _horrible_ that movie was. So when I wanted to expand K's character, which was another element of the movie I _did_ approve of, I began researching **The Triad**—which I find to be much cooler. *cue impish grin*

**Ethylene**, also, is a cameo to Shakespeare's '**Little Death**', an obvious theme of this chapter. When the gas is inhaled, euphoria occurs with other pleasurable sensations. If inhaled within ninety-four percent oxygen, **ethylene** is fatally toxic. When I discovered that, my twisted mind instantly thought 'Erotic Asphyxiation'.

**BlueShip**, in the L movie, is an environmental group. *cue knee-jerk* Again, I decided to expand the idea of the private organization '**BlueShip**' to an **MCC** financier. Irony.

**Cu-kid**: THANK YOU FOR THAT MOST AWESOME FANART! You rock my socks off! I've stared at for some twenty minutes at least per day since you posted it on deviantart! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

It is the most rad feeling to inspire art in someone!

*wags finger* No more procrastinating! Get-a-writing! Of course, don't if it's not fun. It must always be fun. Writing should never stress you. I believe.

Poignancy is right, Matt being Near's W. It's a very bittersweet thing, and the notion isn't lost on Near at all.

I'm so happy you enjoyed the foundation scene! It's the simpler things that more often catch us off guard, I think, when minds begin to wander and senses take over. And I'm glad you enjoyed Panama! I suggest it as a place of travel to pretty much everyone. I'd like to retire there someday, even if they're not particularly welcoming of Americans, lol.

Thanks for your review! And know that your art inspired much of this chapter! Staring at that and listening to 'Diary of Jane' by Breaking Benjamin on repeat gave me enough juice to finish this monster before the end of the month!

**Doumi** (Chapter Nine): Yeah, I am a dork. I try not to let it bleed over too much in the story, but sometimes I can't help myself when I respond to reviews. I just get so giddy with excitement that people are actually reading my shit!

I think **Soldier** is the most painfully endearing chapter so far. I think I accomplished a little 'heart' in it. Considering the nature of the story overall, it's almost fluffy. But not really. Just hits a little closer to home for us as readers than usual, as these guys exist in a place a little above all our heads. Polar bears, blocks and spaghetti, 'smoking kills' conversations…these things sort of remind me that they're human too. Maybe that's why this one turned out so sweet, with the bitter end, because everything comes with a price.

(Chapter Ten): The room shaking thing was actually inspired by how Light's memories of being Kira returning to him was portrayed in the anime. Everything spinning and shaking, an onslaught so extreme it appeared painful.

Oh, definitely Near is beginning to resign to the inevitability of it while Matt is still resisting. Interesting how the tables turn.

Lol, thanks for your comments on Near's awkward bonding with Matt. I'm glad it came across that he was floundering and annoyed with himself for it. Oh, and yes, definitely, Mello was apologizing. Ha ha. Silly Mello.

(Chapter Eleven): Oh, geez, Tulpa is a _fascinating_ subject. First read about it in _Mothman Prophecies_ ages ago, and it's haunted me ever since. I play with it more in my H/D fanfic _Never A Memory_.

*laughs* Yes, he sure was chatting with Mello fresh out of a shower. I loved your 'Why am I always in a towel' Near-sketch. He's too damn cute. The lunar mapping thing actually came to me mid-conversation with my younger brother Doug about the movie _StarGate_. I remembered suddenly when Daniel explained 'point of origin' and 'the cube' as a means to explain the circle thing as an actual gate through space, and I did this weird spastic number before bolting to my computer. I dunno if it's so much that I'm _smart_, as it is that I remember what _other_ smart people have thought up. *cue impish grin*

Ha ha, wouldn't the sloth thing make you smile? That actually happened to me when I was living in Panama. It's one of my favorite memories.

The closure of this chapter was hard for me, but I thought it was high-time to melt the ice on Near—and for Matt to see it. Matt is able to confirm his suspicions now: Near is human and he cares a great deal more than he lets on.

Thanks so much for all your reviews! I adore them!

**Kermitfries**: Thank you! Weeeeell, as for faking, I try not to fake anything, at least with this. That's not to say, of course, that from time to time I don't stretch the truth with creative license. But even creative license has its limits, and I think these characters and the universe Ohba and Obata created deserves at least a little bit of effort. Funny thing is, I don't even mind the research. I'm like a sponge when it comes to random knowledge and quirky facts. I'm one of those weirdoes that will go look up a word in the dictionary and get so distracted reading the next word, and then the next word, that when I finally put the damn thing down, three hours have gone by and I've totally forgotten why I picked it up in the first place. *laughs* I'm glad that Mello has a solid presence for you. I was definitely aiming for that. It's a delicate little managé toi, and hopefully I can tie all the ends together within the next few chapters. Sad thing about orgies is that someone always ends up crying. I'll try to keep the tears down to a minimum though, promise. Thanks again for your review, and I hope you enjoy the update!

**Inuyashalove04**: Oh God, writing the scene with Hani was so hard! I hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. But it worked, so I kept it. Near melted, he got angry about it and it gave him a personal sense of purpose. Matt and Mello…*sigh* Fangirl squeal is right. I know I gave Mello a rough time in this chapter, but I'm going to try something new in the next one, to try and make him seem just a little less like an asshole. Its fun with Mello, exploring all the depths of his personality. He sure is complicated though, and even sometimes gives me a headache. But! I hope you enjoyed the little bits of information in this chapter! I drop more clues and hints and things. Thanks again for your review, and thanks so much for reading!

**St. Sentiment**: Aw, deary, you just worry about getting yourself better! Don't worry about it. I write for you, hon, not the other way around. Read when your well enough to, and focus on getting healthy.


	13. Chapter 13

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Heaven, Maybe  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: I allude to the epilogue manga catalogueing Near and his memories on how he was chosen as a potential heir as L. I do not believe I give too much away, but I do stick to that canon as well.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi readers! I had to make some interesting sacrifices for this chapter. Namely: We're behind schedule. I had hoped to use the first chapter of the Bridge to Nowhere arch to name the location of said bridge and start them on their journey. However, when I outline stories, I am not yet fully involved in the characters. That takes time and experience and character building. Because of the time I've spent crafting and re-crafting these guys, I felt it was important to describe 'the after', and to have these two characters come to know one another on a new level, on a more mundane level, and see if their closeness falters or becomes more defined post-sexual tension. Some of you, in your reviews, thought they might become distant, shy, reserved, might crawl back into their protective introverted shells. Some of you hoped to see more playful sides of their dynamic, a little more flirting, a fresher, light-hearted attitude. I thought: Interesting. I thought: Why not some salt, a dash of pepper and pinch of paprika?

And then it suddenly occured to me that you guys know very little about Matt. And if you know few things about Matt, Near is even more in the dark because a great deal that has been revealed about Matt has been done in third person narrative and only marginally in dialogue! I thought: Well, this is a perfect opportunity for Near to learn about Matt as an individual, like Mello knew him.

So! This chapter has been completely revised. The chapter title was re-named, the entire outline for this arch was re-crafted, and I think, even though it puts us a little behind schedule, the adaption benefits the story like a breath of fresh air. I've played with humor in here, while avoiding fluff as often as possible. I bounce Matt and Near off of different types of intimacy. I use short quick scenes to express the timeline of about four days. And! This is the first chapter where _anything_ is written from Mello's third person point of view! I also pulled a lot of inspiration from Christopher Walken in _The Prophecy _trilogy, and you might spot some terms and cameos here and there. I was also inspired greatly by _The Last Samurai_ by Helen DeWitt and the character Ludo, the child genius who might kill a man if they used real swords, who understands that a real samurai will parry the blow.

**Cu-kid** did another fantastic and awe-inspiring fanart called 'Haunted' which you can find here: **cu-kid[DOT]deviantart[DOT]com/art/Haunted-111549652**

And big thanks to **Doumi **for her beta and for the fabulous, fun, and clever sketches that she did, which you can find here: **duomi[DOT]deviantart[DOT]com/art/SA-Sketches-in-color-111651130**

PLEASE go to those sites and comment their art, they're both amazing and I'm so honored to inspire such imagery!

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Thirteen

**Heaven, Maybe**

"_Dawn points, and another day  
Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea the dawn wind  
Wrinkles and slides. I am here  
Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning."_

**~From "East Coker" by T.S. Eliot**

July 18th, 2013

Several things occurred to Near, in a seeming simultaneous fashion.

The first was that at least forty minutes had passed without his notice. A trivial fact, as far as Near was concerned.

The second was that he had, at some point, lost feeling in his leg. Near had spent day-long vigils in this position before without this problem. Of course, he'd never had the weight of a human head and torso added to his lap, so he could logically deduce the source of his current predicament. Matt continued to slumber peacefully, the sound of his even breathing one of the more relaxing reverberations Near had ever encountered. Therefore, he was somewhat reluctant to oversee the before stated problem as it would include moving the sleeping thing in his lap.

The third was that his shirt stuck to his chest uncomfortably—which led directly to fourth: He was still fully clothed. Odd. Of course, he'd had the idea that perhaps they might have needed to _disrobe _to become intimate. So much for assumptions. Well and so, his ejaculate had dried precariously on his stomach underneath his shirt, which Near decided was somewhat…gross.

Still, it did not seem reason enough to move the sleeping thing in his lap, the source of that most calming sound.

The fifth was the _other_ sound. That strange, perplexing, sickly grumbling sound. Near blinked slowly, letting his thoughts settle back into their normal rhythm.

Ah. Of course.

Matt hadn't eaten since the mango stand, after the monkeys and the market place. Before the death of the Kuna girl. Almost forty-eight hours.

Near sighed, causing his skin to stretch oddly where it was stuck to the front of his shirt. That may very well be his fault too. Of course, he hadn't _demanded_ or actively _forced_ Matt to stand by on-deck while he waged war against his mind yesterday. But still.

Matt obviously participated actively as his W whenever the opportunity presented itself. Near knew that. He probably should have sent him away to nourish himself at some point. Of course, Near felt he certainly shouldn't have to regulate when Matt did or did not eat, did or did not sleep. That would be utterly ridiculous.

But.

That sound was obstinately guilt-provoking nevertheless.

The duffle bag was about a foot away. Near reached, being careful not to jostle the sleeping thing in his lap, and procured a pair of sweats. The material was soft, so Near folded it carefully and placed it beneath Matt's head as he scooted back and stood. Matt murmured something at the disturbance and Near froze, bent over him and peering. Matt's fingers flexed and then relaxed. He continued to sleep.

Near closed his eyes briefly and straightened. He walked across the room and dialed for room service. After he had placed the order he figured since he was up anyway, he might as well shower. He eyed the bathroom door warily, wondering if Mello would pop in for a visit.

He wondered if he should call him and get their stand off over with—because of course that was what it would ultimately deteriorate to. That wasn't to say Mello was predictable. Surely, Near didn't know anyone less predictable than Mello. But there was something Near _did_ understand about Mello. And it was this:

Mello was driven by his emotions, by his instincts, and therefore animalistic about what he considered _his_. Mello was very clever, and dying seemed to only heighten his sense of awareness and expand the wealth of his knowledge. However, whatever game this phantom, this residual imprint of Mello played, it did not seem to hamper that chaotic nature of his personality. Mello will, and must always be, Mello.

And Mello did not like other people touching his things.

Well and so, Near did not think Mello would come when called. Everything about Mello would rebel at being _summoned_. Mello would show at a time of his choosing, and no sooner…if at all.

As it happens, Mello saw fit to allow Near to shower in peace. After Near had dressed himself in a pair of loose slacks and the AC/DC shirt Matt had given him the night when he'd first kissed him, the night they both learned some terrible truths, he wasn't sure of what to do.

He stood in the center of the room, gazing down at the sleeping thing on the floor. Matt with his arm tucked under his head, with the calming, steady sound of slumbering breath. Matt, who saw past his memory of Mello for a few titillating moments and saw Near. Matt, who looked painfully young while asleep. Matt, who sent Mello away. Matt, who said there wasn't room for three.

Near couldn't agree more.

A knock sounded at the door. Near took the platter of food from the waiter and closed the door in the man's face. He placed the platter by Matt's head, knowing the man would be hungry when he woke.

There was a sixth occurrence, of course; a realization that made him wonder when it was _he_ last rested. Near was exhausted. His eyes felt like twin burning things inside his skull, and dry as stones. His limbs felt heavy, his arms like lead at his sides. The shower had not worked to revitalize him, and he submitted to the tiredness sweeping through him. He curled onto his bed, his eyes fixed on the sleeping thing.

Of course he dreamed. He dreamed of the echoes of conversations he should remember more clearly. He dreamed of a tall Asian woman who glanced down her nose at him, contempt in her glittering black eyes. Her face morphed into another face with glittering black eyes, impenetrable and grievous. After he dreamt of Akhish and his unfathomable secrets, he dreamed of Abu Ghraib. And as they struck him down and pummeled his sides with their boots in swift, harsh kicks, he saw the albino Kuna girl standing in one corner. She watched with an accusation in her unseeing, milky eyes. Cradled in her bloody, broken arms was a mahogany urn with gold trim, shards of red glinting in the sharp slash of the interrogation light.

~*~

His stomach growled. Matt grimaced at the rumbling inside of him and turned over, coming nose-to-platter with the thing that smelled so delicious it woke him from a dead sleep. He lifted the lid and chuckled. A dozen or so grilled cheese sandwiches waited on the floor next to him. He ate two in the time it took him to sit up. He'd consumed another by the time he located Near.

The fourth sandwich paused in the air, half-way to his mouth. Near whimpered, and whimpered again. Matt dropped the sandwich back onto the platter and got to his feet. He'd washed up and changed clothes in less than five minutes. He crossed the room swiftly and bent over Near, grasping his shoulders and shaking him gently awake.

Near woke with a start, his wintry blue eyes bloodshot and blinking rapidly.

"Alright, easy killer." Matt smoothed his palm over Near's cheek, waiting for the detective to recognize him. "Easy."

Near clutched at his shirt and pressed his forehead against Matt's collarbone, sucking in air to level his breathing. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Matt contradicted. He pressed one knee into the mattress and Near made room for him. Matt hesitated for only a fraction of a second before maneuvering under the sheet. He snaked one arm around Near's slim waist and pulled him close. The detective seemed to melt against him, fitted against every limb. "Abu Ghraib again?"

Against the hook of his throat, Near nodded. "More. Every damning thought seems to mutate in my dreams now." He paused. "I think I know now why L did not like to sleep."

"Don't say that." Matt propped his chin atop Near's head, white curls whispering along the angles of his face. The detective smelled like soap.

"Don't say what?"

"Damning," he answered. "Near, you've done nothing wrong."

"I dreamt of K too," Near murmured, swiftly changing the subject. Apparently, he didn't want to get into another argument about whose fault what was.

"K? Really?" Matt shifted back so he could look at Near's face. The detective's eyes swiveled up to meet his. "I didn't think you would have remembered her."

"I don't remember much, actually." Near paused, his eyes becoming unfocused as he peered into the analogues of his mind. "She never spoke to me. I never saw her after my first year at Wammy's."

Matt waited for it. He expected a stream of questions about K. Instead, Near asked: "Why do you call me 'killer'?"

Matt was startled, but he gave Near a generous smile. "Because the look on your face when I say it is completely worth it."

"You mean it amuses you."

Matt's smile grew a little wider. "Yeah. And that."

Near's eyes became even bluer. His mouth quirked in one corner. "You'll have to explain to me, one day, what it is about my face that you find so humorous."

Matt's smile softened. He smoothed Near's hair out of his eyes. He liked the sound of that. It made things seem a bit less urgent, a little less rushed. It made the illusion of _time_ seem somewhat believable. Matt wasn't sure how long he could have this before it was snatched away. He considered kissing Near, continuing what they started earlier that morning. But:

"You're tired," Matt observed, pulling back.

"Very," Near murmured. "But I'm afraid to sleep."

Matt took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn't know how to ward off nightmares. "I'll be here," he promised, because that was all he _could_ promise.

"I know," Near whispered, closing his eyes.

The night deepened and melted into dawn. Matt waited for Mello but Mello did not appear. He could still feel him, the throb in the edges of the hole, the chill at the end of his fingertips and toes. He knew he was close, but he continued to give them privacy.

If Matt had a heart, it would be bleeding. He knew a little about what Mello was sacrificing for him now. Soon, Mello might go mad and begin to hate him for it. But certainly hate was better than apathy, wasn't it? Certainly the dull throb, certainly the chill, certainly the echo of his ghost was better than no ghost at all. Wasn't it?

With Near sleeping fitfully in his arms, Matt was gripped by the sudden fear that Mello would leave him permanently.

What if he never came back?

~*~

_"Dry humping?!" _

"Yeah," laughed Matt, who had collapsed against the wall at the sight of Near's expression.

"You're laughing at me."

"Yeah," Matt agreed, clutching now at his sides.

Near made a face and threw a grilled cheese sandwich across the room at him. Matt caught it one-handedly and cheerfully took a bite.

"But it sounds blatantly crude!" Near protested, his exasperation making his voice rise above its normal pitch.

Matt chuckled and took another bite. "It's supposed to, Near."

Near peered suspiciously at him under his fringe of wild, white-blond curls. "Is that really what it's called?"

"Yeah." Matt finished the sandwich and grinned. "Would you like another go?"

Near's mouth twisted. He looked as if he were trying not to smile. "Not if it's really called _dry humping_," he said, crossing the room and disappearing into the bathroom.

Matt's laughter continued even after he shut the door.

~*~

Strange how things felt new that weren't really new.

Strange how a shift in emotional atmospheres can do that. Near thought it might have something to do with perception.

Near had heard Matt laugh before, but now it felt new. Like it was the first time. Because before it hadn't given him cause to smile. Before he hadn't wondered at the sound of it, the richness of it, the clarity either.

Incidentally, he'd known that Matt had a sense of humor too. However that was easy to forget when his eyes were blazing with fury, or there were bullets slicing through the air and aimed for Near's head. It was easy to forget when Matt spent most of his time frowning and looking distracted, and Near's mind was also elsewhere, mulling over impromptu adventures, near-death experiences, paranormal entities, and murder mysteries. It was hard to miss now. Every quirk of the hacker's mouth, every bark of laughter, every grin he tried to hide by turning his face away. Now, it was hard to imagine what Matt _didn't_ find funny.

Another day beckoned another night, and they were yet another day closer to the close of this journey—and to the beginning of _another_ one. Three days left aboard the cruise liner. Near found himself wishing that number was more like three hundred. Or even three thousand. Or three million…

At first, Near apprehensively thought their episode of…of…no, not _dry humping_—the saying offended him as Near considered it a particularly undignified piece of terminology—their…

Near sighed. Matt looked up at him from the chair he was currently perched in, reading a pamphlet he'd found about the ship they were on and snickering every few minutes as he read something he found amusing. "What's up?"

Near shuffled the deck of cards in his hands for the eighty-four hundredth time that day. He'd build a castle with them if not for the annoying sway of the ship. Near met his eyes and found himself smiling. "Nothing. Just thinking."

Matt tilted his head to one side and re-folded the pamphlet in his hands. "You're bored."

Near shook his head. "Not really. I have many things to think about."

Matt quirked a brow. "Nothing I'm sure you haven't thought over before."

Near shrugged.

Matt's smile turned into a grin. "Still trying to find a synonym?"

Near turned a little red, shuffling the cards again. "Unfortunately."

Matt laughed. "Why not just think 'Little Death' while you're sitting there over-complicating things."

Little death. Well, if it was suitable for Shakespeare…

Near shuffled the cards for the eighty-four hundred and second time in a row. At first, Near thought apprehensively that it might have only been a one-time thing, that maybe Matt had the release he was looking for and would only reach for him again when the hacker's calm deteriorated back into near-madness. Of course, he wasn't complaining about the almost twelve hours he was able to sleep, knowing that he was safely tucked in the middle of his protector's arms. It didn't keep the nightmares away, being wrapped up in Matt's embrace, but it certainly helped—and the hacker would always shake him awake before his dreaming became too violent or horrific. So, really, Near wasn't complaining. However, Near wasn't sure of what to expect to happen after…well, _after_, and so was confused when Matt did not kiss him again.

When he'd tried to breach the subject by asking what is was, exactly, they had done, Matt had said, quite casually, 'dry humping' and promptly laughed in his face. Or _at_ his face, as Matt claimed.

Near knew enough about Matt to know his manner was only meant to tease, but he'd taken offense anyway. It must have been evident because after Near showered, Matt cornered him in the doorway and kissed him senselessly. He said later he just wanted to make sure. Near wasn't certain what that meant, but he wondered if it was an expression of the thoughts that circled in Near's brain.

Now…

Well, now Near was trying to figure out a good way to initiate it again without making him look like an idiot. Problematic, as that was precisely how he was beginning to feel every time Matt looked at him with those bright, laughing eyes, and smiled that insufferable teasing smile.

Near's fingers paused amidst the eighty-four hundred and third shuffle. "Come again?"

"Hm?" Matt hadn't stopped looking at him. He seemed to be waiting for something. He wasn't smiling anymore, and his eyes were alert and watchful.

"What did you say?" Near pushed the cards away and stood, watching Matt's throat as the hacker swallowed.

"Little death," Matt repeated. His lower lip bent under his teeth. The small detail made him look abruptly nervous.

Near crossed the room and bent over Matt, peering at him. "No, the other part. Am I over-complicating it?"

Matt had straightened in his seat, head tilted back so he could see Near's face. "I think so."

"Interesting." Near felt Matt's long fingers brush over his leg and curl under his thigh. At the slightest pressure of those fingers, Near moved forward, causing his other leg to maneuver between Matt's. "Ah," Near murmured, lifting his hands to caress the skin just beneath suddenly anxious eyes with his fingertips. "I see."

Matt's eyes closed. Near drifted his fingers over his eyelids, the bridge of his straight nose, the jut of his angled cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, his generous, sloping mouth. Near cradled Matt's face like a precious thing and bent lower. He kissed him very gently. And then not so gently at all.

Matt moaned under the onslaught, tightening his grip beneath Near's thigh and drawing him closer, until Near had all-but climbed onto his lap. Near wondered wildly if they wouldn't make it to the disrobing part this time either, meeting the push of Matt's pelvis with his own.

A knock sounded at the door. "Room service," called the intrusive moron in the hall.

"Ignore it," Matt murmured against Near's mouth, at the same time Near remembered that they had called down for more food. Regretfully, he pulled away, straightening his shirt and glaring at the door. Matt jumped to his feet.

"I'll do it," Matt said. "You'll just terrorize the man."

"I would do no such thing," Near lied, in a half-hearted protest.

"You were viciously mean to the last one," Matt reminded him over one shoulder.

"I was _not_—"

"Hi," Matt greeted amiably. He seemed unapologetic about the tousled nature of his hair. Near saw the waiter try and peer around him. "Thanks a lot," Matt was saying, taking the tray of food and rolling it into the room. "Here's your tip. Thanks again. Have a good one." Matt closed the door behind him.

"I am not mean," Near said.

"Yes, you are," Matt disagreed with a laugh. "C'mon, let's eat."

~*~

Sometimes Near was very difficult to read. Watari had trained him well at dissembling, but he used to say too: "If a person like L truly wishes for you to not know what he is thinking, then it might very well be impossible. You'll just have to memorize habits and prepare for anything."

"Jesus, anything! Really '_anything_'?" a younger Matt had asked. A much younger Matt. "What if L knew that aliens were about to attack the planet and that we were all doomed and he didn't want to bring this to your attention because it would upset you so he closed it up in his head—We have to prepare even for _aliens_?"

Watari had looked at him for a long time before answering: "Yes, even aliens."

So, naturally, Matt was considering an alien invasion as he watched Near stare at nothing for about an hour. Matt laid flat on his back, his hands tucked under his head, and Near also sat on the bed between him and the wall, curled in on himself and chewing idly on his fingernail. Near's eyes were mostly black.

Suddenly, the twin abysms slid down and looked at Matt.

Matt waited. The black holes shifted back up and stared at nothing. Another hour went by. Matt yawned.

"What are you thinking about?" Matt considered himself a patient guy, but this was on the one side of uncomfortable.

The twin abysms blinked at him. "I'm trying to remember you."

"Are you serious?" Matt sat up. "Why would you—I'm right _here_, Near."

"I am aware of your physical presence," Near said drily.

Matt made a face.

Near sighed and blinked again. His eyes were more blue than black when he looked at Matt again. "Don't be offended," he said with a small smile. "I'm just trying to understand you."

Matt looked away and back again, his mouth turning up on one side. "I'm flattered."

"Oh, _now_ you're flattered." Near raised one white brow.

"What do you mean?"

"I blabbered on and on about decent qualities I saw in you in Japan, and—"

Matt interrupted with a laugh. "I was trying not to like you at the time Near. And you have to admit, you were being a _teensy _bit pretentious."

"I'll admit to no such thing," Near said, but he was smiling.

"You know," Matt said, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Most people just ask questions when they want to get to know each other."

Near eyed him warily. "We're not most people," he said softly.

Matt regarded Near quietly, hoping he could read the silent invitation. "It was just a thought."

"Would you answer my questions?"

"I might," Matt said. "Depends on the question."

Near was quiet for a long time. Finally he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Did you leave Wammy's because L picked me and not Mello?"

"Yes."

"You were angry."

"Yes." Matt paused and then reached for Near's hand. "But not with you."

Near looked at their interlaced fingers. "You felt betrayed."

"Yes," Matt admitted. "Initially, yes. Turned out to be the right choice though, in the end."

Near met his eyes briefly and then returned his gaze to their hands. Near's eyes were smoldering.

"I was a teenager and petulant," Matt continued. "The logic didn't settle in until I matured a little. The world doesn't revolve around what I want, even though I thought it should." Matt's voice was very soft as he said: "It still amazes me that we were so young when everything happened. I wonder sometimes if we had been a little older, if maybe we would have been a little wiser in what we chose. The fate of the world resting on the shoulders of a couple of kids is never a good plan, in my mind." Matt tightened his fingers on Near's, causing the detective to look at him again. "But you brought us all together anyway, didn't you?"

"Accidentally," Near murmured. "And with terrible consequences."

To that, Matt didn't know what to say. Mello's death hung in the air between them. He felt the chill at the end of his fingertips, the throb around the edges of the hole. He wondered if Mello would appear. He didn't.

Near looked away. "What is Akhish to you?" he asked. "I know he's a member of your network, a connection, but he seemed protective of you. He had the Rabbi keep watch over you."

Matt thought of the Arab and the look of utter disappointment in his eyes as Matt sold a year of his services to a man they both hated so fiercely.

"You don't have to answer that if you don't want to," Near said, glancing side-long at him and reading something in Matt's expression.

"No, its okay," Matt said quickly. "I—Akhish's father was a contact of Watari's. I met the Nusseibeh family in Iran just before the war started."

Near stared at him for a long time. "You were renewing Watari's resources."

Matt nodded. "I warned them about the invasion, trying to give them a head start as an act of good faith that they would remain within the network. I didn't expect that they would stay in Jerusalem."

Near searched his face for a moment. "They prepared for it instead."

"Yeah." Matt glanced at him. The smoldering look had dimmed a little. It was easier to meet his eyes now. "They used the information I gave to them to save lives. I respect them for that, even if I don't know that I wouldn't have run myself."

"I don't think you would have run."

Matt snorted. "Why not? It seems like the only thing I'm good for."

"Not with me." Near met his eyes unflinching. "Abu Ghraib."

Matt looked away. "Abu Ghraib wasn't an invading army. Outnumbered and outsourced, I don't know that I wouldn't take the coward's way out." Matt bit his lip. "Didn't know that, huh? Didn't know I was a flake, did you?"

Near stared at his averted face. "I don't know everything about you, but I know a few things. I know that, when it counts, you're not a coward."

"You don't _know_ that, Near. You don't _know_ that."

"Yes, I do."

"No—"

"A coward wouldn't spy on a Kira knowing there were Death Notes and death gods involved," Near said, his voiced hard. "A coward wouldn't go to such lengths to warn me, a coward wouldn't have gone to Japan in the first place, to help a friend, a lover, and a coward certainly wouldn't walk into a hailstorm of bullets to fake his own death!"

"Ah, but you see…" Matt turned and smiled sadly at Near. "I was _running_, Near. I was running from Mello, from my responsibilities, from my promises, from my duty—"

"Being W shouldn't be a duty, it should be a choice—"

"But I was _running_ from _that_ too, Near!" Matt all-but shouted. "I _did_ choose in! I wander around the world, going through the motions of W, but I'm too much of a coward to pop in and say 'Hey, by the way, I'm Watari's heir'. It's not a fucking hard thing to say, but I couldn't do it. Fucking Christ, Sarah had to tell you because I couldn't decide if I thought—"

"If you thought it was worth it?" Near demanded. "If _I_ was worth it?"

"No!" Matt growled, clutching at his hair. This was getting out of hand. "I was terrified that you didn't _need_ me. You had Rester and Halle. The orphanage seemed to be operating just fine. You figured everything out on your own, made new contacts, created a new network…" Matt trailed off and glared at the far wall. "I couldn't tell if you really needed me."

The twin abysms bored into him.

Matt finally turned to face them. He let those dying sun stars rape and pillage everything Matt was trying to say that he just _couldn't_. Near continued to stare unblinking. "Can you imagine how worthless that makes me?" Matt whispered brokenly. "I feel like a wool coat in the Mojave, man. I train my whole life to…to…"

Near reached for him and Matt let himself be cradled against the detective's chest. Near's arms held him awkwardly, and he couldn't seem to decide what to do with his hands as they shifted restlessly from position to another. Near went so far as to pat Matt on the head. It was weirdly cute, and Matt found himself smiling into Near's shirt. He pulled back a little to see Near's face.

The detective had taken on the deer-in-headlights expression. He looked so uncomfortable Matt had to laugh. "I'm okay," Matt said. "Really, I'm okay."

Near looked suspicious.

"Sorry for falling apart on you," Matt said, trying to reassure him with another smile. "Go on. Ask another question."

Near looked apprehensive.

"Aw, Near, you're going to make me feel bad. Ask another."

Near looked indecisive. Then he said: "K."

"That's not really a question," Matt said, but he knew what Near meant. He'd been waiting for it. Had been surprised that he hadn't asked already. Matt was prepared; he said: "K is a contact of Watari's, I inherited her network when he died."

"And?"

"And she has a career in Japan, so she's pretty much stationary." Matt shrugged. "I called her when I decided to book."

"And?"

"And what, Near?"

Near stared at him.

Matt held up his hands. "Alright, alright! Jesus, killer, relax. Don't get all _crazy_," he muttered. "She's a bio-chemist at MCC. She's also an Md. She was very close to Watari. She worshiped him. His death hit her hard, okay? So I'd prefer it if you didn't go bothering her."

Near glanced away. It seemed to satisfy him.

Matt laid back and rested his hands beneath his head. Beside him, Near perched his chin on his knee and stared down at him.

"I'm not very good at that am I?"

Matt glanced at him. "At what?"

Near's mouth twisted. "Comforting you," he said slowly. Near hesitated, and then met his eyes quietly.

Matt propped himself up on his elbows. "I don't think it's an exact science, Near," he said. "But I haven't felt this relaxed in years."

Near's eyes skittered away, but Matt caught the flash of disappointment before they did.

"You mean the hug."

Near blinked, his eyes returning to Matt's face.

"Come here," Matt said, holding out one arm. Matt waited for him to stretch out alongside him before maneuvering Near's head gently to his shoulder. Then he clasped Near's wrist and pulled it under him, around his waist. He took Near's other arm and wrapped it around his torso. Then Matt encircled his own arms around Near, one arm above the detective's shoulders, and the other below. He held him close.

"This is a hug," Matt whispered. "See? It's easy."

~*~

They embraced for hours before speaking again.

Gone was the playfulness. Gone was the urgency, and even a little bit of the heated lust. Peaked and smoothed out. There was more to intimacy than sex.

In the small hours of the morning, Near shifted in Matt's arms. Matt blinked groggily at him. "What's up?"

"Can I ask you another question?"

Matt nestled his head back into the crook of Near's neck and shoulder. "Sure," he said sleepily.

"Sarah said something about your mother…"

A jolt went through Matt, causing him to stiffen.

"Matt, what happened to your mother?"

Matt didn't stir for some time. He buried his face against Near's throat and gripped painfully at his arms, his fingertips forming bruises against the detective's milk-white skin. Near bore it silently for twenty minutes. "You don't have to answer that. I understand."

"I used to love going outside," Matt said suddenly, speaking against Near's throat. "The only thing I loved more than going outside was basketball. There was a court just down the block. I used to play with the big kids. I helped them with their homework and they let me play."

Matt swallowed before continuing. "Mom worked a lot, but she'd always be home to make dinner. She had only one rule. She wanted me home before the street lights came on. So I always came home before the streetlights came on."

Matt fell silent again and Near waited.

Finally: "The guys wanted to play at the court on the boardwalk. The boardwalk was some four miles away. I wanted to play too. I didn't make it back before the street lights came on. I had to walk four miles back. Mom wasn't home when I got there. Supper wasn't ready…"

Matt lifted his head and stared intently at Near. "Can you believe that I was actually _mad_ at her? I was so mad because I just walked _four miles_ back from that _stupid_ game and I was _hungry_. The least she could do was make supper. It wasn't like I hadn't given her enough _time_!" Matt's voice broke. He pulled away completely and sat up, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. Matt wore a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. He _always_ wore long-sleeved shirts and jeans, even to bed. Near's eyes flickered, aware of the fact.

Matt's voice sounded like the rustling of dead, autumn leaves. "Cop came to the door the next morning. Said Mom was hit by some drunk fuck in a Toyota by the court down the block. He took me away and D found me, brought me to Wammy's. I was four."

"She was looking for you," Near said.

"Yeah." Matt looked at him and smiled bitterly. "People don't fucking listen. Not even me." Matt said softly: "I was afraid if I went outside again, someone would die." Matt ran a fingernail over his bottom lip, his eyes staring at something far away. "Seems true again, lately."

Near reached for him. No theatrics, no weeping, but Matt went willingly enough and let Near hold him. Near didn't fuck it up this time.

~*~

Matt was more reserved today. He spent most of his time on his laptop--not really doing anything, just staring at it.

Near regretted asking about his mother.

Near gave him his space and sat in the middle of the floor, laying playing cards face down around him in complicated patterns. He still wore the arm bands the Kuna girl from the market place had given him and tried to recreate the beaded patterns on them with the cards. He thought about her, the girl from the market place. He never bothered to ask her name.

Near thought about K. He thought about how Watari's death 'hit her hard'. He thought about how she grieved. Near didn't think it would be the same for everybody.

Near thought about the murders in Japan and how that case seemed to be so far away, so unimportant now. He thought about the dead and the families they left behind. He thought about how those people grieved, and he thought it would be different for them too.

Near thought about Alexa, and wondered how she would grieve if Sarah died.

Near thought about how he didn't recall grieving at all for the parents he couldn't remember. Near thought maybe there was something wrong with him. Why would he grieve for Hani, and not for his own parents? Why he didn't grieve for Watari or L, or even Mello--three people who might have been more like family to him than the couple who bred him twenty-two years ago.

Matt said he was mean to the waiter who brought them grilled cheese sandwiches. Matt hadn't seemed bothered by it.

But was he?

Near wondered if he wasn't equipped with the humanity required to nurture a creature like Matt, who seemed to be in a constant state of grief. Near wondered if Matt was thinking the same thing.

Near felt suddenly cold, like a wintry gust of wind had passed through him. Above them, the ceiling light flickered. Near gasped, Matt looked up from his laptop.

"What's your favorite color?" Near asked, the words ripping from his mouth without having been considered. It felt like the question hadn't come from him at all.

Matt blinked rapidly at him. "Blue, I guess. At the moment."

Gooseflesh broke out on Near's arms and he curled in on himself, bringing his knees up under his chin. "Why?"

Matt frowned at him. He got up and crossed the room, tiptoeing around Near's card-patterns. He picked up a blanket from the bed they didn't use and bent over Near, wrapping it snugly around his shoulders. Matt turned, and then sat cross-legged on the bed they did use. "If we're going to play the question-game again, I think it might be fair if I can ask one every time you do."

Near's teeth chattered and he clenched his jaw, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. "I thought we weren't playing anymore games." The wintry gust passed through him again, and he shivered.

Matt smiled a little. "This game doesn't have to be dangerous."

The cold vanished abruptly. Near took a deep breath and shrugged off the blanket. "Alright."

"What's your favorite color?" Matt asked, his demeanor tentative, his eyes alert as they watched Near.

Hysteria swept through Near like the cold moments before. He let out a short, soft laugh. And then a longer one. Breathy, incredulous laughter. Near dropped his head in his hands. _I'm losing it_, he thought. _I'm losing it_. He said: "I'm sure I have no idea." Near looked up, met Matt's eyes briefly. They were that dark, sapphires-at-night blue. "I don't waste my thoughts on trivial notions like preferring one invisible shade from another, as color is merely perceptions of refracted light."

"Uh-huh," Matt grunted. "Well, be trivial. Just for this one moment, be trivial and pick a favorite. I promise I won't tell anyone you slipped and let your guard down." It was said humorlessly. Near thought Matt was annoyed with him. Near didn't like that either, that he was becoming an irritant.

He considered red, because of the highlights in Matt's hair and the shine in Mello's urn. But then he thought of Hani, broken and bloody, and shuddered. Then he thought of the sloth, surrounded by shouting Panamanians and thick green foliage. Big green leaves and small green shrubs. He thought of the deep green water of the canal, and the green mold against the red rust of the sunken tub. He thought of the bright green bananas and the family of monkeys. He thought of the expansive green lawns of the Wammy estate. He thought of the large green, pear-shaped bushes lining the driveway, twice as tall as a man. He thought of the sharp, piercing scent of pine and cedar. He thought of how deep the green looked at Wammy's when it rained. Near said: "Green."

Matt nodded slowly. "A calming color." He smiled. "Your turn."

Near considered carefully his next question. He wanted it to be harmless like 'What's your favorite color?' and not potentially harmful as 'What happened to your mother?'. But he didn't want it to be trivial nonsense either, for fear Matt might throw it back at him. He didn't want to ask something he already knew the answer to, like 'What's your favorite food?', as 'grilled cheese sandwiches' would most likely be the answer. He didn't want it to be 'What's your happiest memory?' because he was curiously terrified the answer might have something to do with Mello. Near didn't want to ask anything, suddenly, but his drive to know absolutely everything about Matt was more powerful. He asked: "Why do you still insist on wearing long-sleeved shirts?"

Matt stared at him. Near instantly regretted his question. He knew the answer before Matt spoke it. "My scars," Matt said in a hoarse, low voice. "I don't--I don't like them."

"I've seen you naked," Near said, grimacing as he wished wildly for a filter. "I don't mind them."

Matt stared at him. His face gave nothing away. Then he grinned lop-sidedly and glanced away. His cheeks had colored. When he looked back he said: "Think about it this way. I'm supposed to be invisible. I'm not supposed to draw attention. If I walk around in a tee and shorts, someone's bound to notice bullet scars up and down my arms and legs. I can imagine some child pointing them out to her mom, and the mom whispering to her husband and then there's suddenly a hundred and fifty-two eyes staring at me. Consider how problematic that would be, especially when I'm trying to keep you relatively hidden."

Near liked it when Matt grinned like that. It seemed reflexive and not forced. He liked that he could cause it. Near held up two fingers and counted off. "You apparently don't understand the effect you have on people as crowds seem to stare at you anyway, I've noticed, and there are not one hundred and fifty-two people in this room. Just me."

Matt frowned ruefully at him. "Okay, and then there's the small problem of 'I think they're hideous'."

"I don't mind them," Near repeated.

Matt stared at him, but his eyes were soft. He said: "It's my turn."

Near felt frustrated, but he let the matter drop.

Matt tilted his head to one side. "I'm a little bit crazy," he said, "and irresponsible to a fault. Do you think they fucked up when they chose me as W?"

Near lifted one hand and twined a lock of his hair around his index finger. He dropped his hand. He looked at Matt, seeing the pain and doubt behind his carefully gaurded eyes. "No." Near asked: "When this is over, will you continue to be W, or will you defect?"

Matt stared at him. "I don't know. Will you want me?"

"I think so," Near answered. He shrugged. "I want you now. You've proven more than competent. But are you over-complicating it?"

"Maybe," Matt said quietly. "Things are more complicated now. This is not professional."

Near didn't know what to say, so he kept quiet.

"I don't want to screw this up," Matt said. "I feel like I'm screwing it up." He paused. Then: "It feels like it was screwed up from the beginning. How do we fix that?"

Near closed his eyes. "This is not something I know anything about. I know a lot about a lot of things, but nothing of this." Near opened his eyes. Matt inhaled sharply at something he saw on Near's face, but what it was, Near couldn't fathom. He asked: "What do you want most in the world?"

Matt answered readily. "To matter." There was a world of pain in his eyes, agonized sapphires at twilight. "What do you want, Near? Most above all?"

Near thought about the notion of W, how the idea itself could remove his ownership over what he thought he'd inherited. He thought about how he really didn't think he cared. He thought about Hani and the oath he'd sworn to her. He thought about Mello's idea of 'purpose', and how it could be so powerful to instigate residual energy to push events into motion. He thought about L and what he had accomplished. He thought about the War of the Three and why he'd done the things he'd done. He thought about the original mission of Wammy's House. He thought about Quillish Wammy's vision. He thought about Akhish and his father choosing to use knowledge to save lives at the risk of their own. He thought of how Akhish's forefathers were given a duty by Saladin thousands of years ago. He thought about why he was called 'Near'. He thought about how he was a copy of a man who knew his purpose and attacked it vigorously, sleeplessly, who was calmed by sugar and sweets and had a grounded sense of right and wrong. Near was almost a replica of that. He felt maybe he had a grounded sense of right and wrong. Matt thought so. Sweets didn't calm him, but cards and toys and blocks did. Near thought of how he took up the helm of L, dutiful and indifferent. He thought maybe he was unhappy because he didn't have that one thing that made him different from L.

A purpose. A point. A reason.

Near understood Matt more than maybe Matt understood him then. He said: "To matter." He asked: "What do we do now?"

Matt stared at him, his expression thoughtful. "I don't know," he said softly. "We find the Bridge to Nowhere, and we cross it."

~*~

Matt inhaled, feeling the burn of smoke slide down his throat and the calm pool in his stomach. He exhaled slowly. He flicked his thumb against the filter, ashing into the foam below. Matt sat, perched on the rail, facing the endless blue of the Pacific Ocean. It was hot today, and mercilessly sunny. The water roiled beneath his dangling, booted feet. He thought of the propellers that could dice him into a dozen pieces just beneath the foam. He briefly considered jumping. But just briefly. The moment passed, he pressed the filter to his lips again and inhaled deeply. He laughed a little, a puff of acrid smoke.

Mello still had not appeared to him. Matt wondered why he was waiting.

Matt gazed across the endless blue and thought of the country just across it. Ground zero. Where Mello had died, alone because Matt walked away from him. Why did Matt think he deserved anything? Why did he feel Mello owed him this small happiness? Maybe Mello didn't. Maybe that was why Matt couldn't bring himself to enjoy it. It was beginning to get under his skin, the madness. The sickness. The badness he felt when he closed his eyes and re-saw terrible things. Soldiers clubbing a child to death with the butt of their rifles. A village burning to the ground. An orphan crying before being handed a Kalashnikov and ordered to execute his brother. The badness that whispered to him he shouldn't have left. The badness that could have promised ignorance if he had stayed where he belonged, in Mello's shadow. The badness that claimed he could have had everything he wanted if he had just broken his word, if he had walked away from a stupid promise made to an old man and not walked away from the one person who knew and loved him best.

But something else murmured he had an opportunity to rebuild that burning village, to rehabilitate that child soldier. That other thing murmured that he could change the world, that he could make things better, that he could have some redemption for all those people who died because of his decisions, because of his ignorance. Watari had promised him that. That he would have every tool at his disposal to make the world just a little bit better. That all he would have to do was protect L, to aid L, to make L happy.

So why the fuck was Matt contemplating sleeping with him? Why the fuck did he want to screw it all up? Matt decided that there was something irrevocably _wrong _with him.

The worst part was that it wasn't the _idea_ of sleeping with L that gripped him, contrary to what Mello thought. It was _Near_.

Matt wanted _Near_.

And Matt was beginning to think he couldn't have him. No, not because it was the one person Mello hated above all. Matt knew he was twisted enough not to really care about _that_. Matt thought he might have to deny himself Near because Near was in fact L. And a W wasn't supposed to sleep with his L, because surely that would cause an immense amount of problems. What if L's decisions became warped because of W's influence, namely because they were lovers? Conflict of interest. L would lose his credibility. L could lose everything. L might say no, when he should say yes. L might say execute him, when he should say life in prison. L might say I want to concentrate on this case, when he should say this other one is far more important. What if W made L irresponsible? Inevitably...

Inevitably...

But Matt couldn't help thinking that they had gone too far anyway, and this internal debate was a moot point. And Matt couldn't help considering maybe he was making excuses because he knew Mello wouldn't like it. Even though Mello was dead. Mello wouldn't like it. Mello wouldn't approve.

"Fuck Mello," Matt whispered, staring at the deep, endless blue. "Fuck you, Mello. You've made me crazy. Are you happy now?"

Behind him, someone cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir. You can't be up there."

Matt twisted a little, glancing at the waiter who spoke to him. Matt recognized him. Slightly pudgy, Asian-American male whose nametag said 'Bobby'. Noticeably gay, early twenties, earnest. Matt smiled disarmingly at him, gripped the rail with one hand and neatly somersaulted back onto the deck. The Bobby-waiter stepped back in surprise.

"Sorry," Matt said grinning.

The Bobby-waiter opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. "Can-can I get something for you, sir?" he stammered.

Matt glanced at the beverage platter tucked under his arm. He moved his eyes back up to the waiter's slowly and held his gaze for a moment longer than appropriate before drawling: "No. But thank you."

The Bobby-waiter's face flushed a bright red. The poor guy was sweating. "Oh, okay then."

Matt looked at him for another long moment, satisfied when the fleshy man dropped his gaze and flushed again. "See you around," Matt said, smiling his best smile and giving the Bobby-waiter a small wave. Matt turned and made his way below-deck, grinning to himself.

Near was sitting on the floor in the center of the room, immersed in another complex pattern of cards. He looked up when Matt entered the room. Matt stopped grinning. He wondered if Near would understand the humor of what he'd done to the poor waiter above-deck. Matt thought he probably would. Matt understood the look L had spoken about when he chose Near as his successor, saying he had seen something disturbing in his eyes and knew in that moment Near thought as he did. L had said there was a similar look in Mello's eyes. Matt understood that too. What twisted creatures they all were.

Matt tried to cross the room to the bathroom, but Near caught his wrist. Matt felt his pulse leap at the touch. He paused and looked down, seeing _that_ look in Near's eyes. The silent, curious, wicked invitation in the otherwise expressionless face. Matt stooped and clutched Near's elbow, hauling the man to his feet. He shoved Near against the wall, watching the excitement flash in the detective's near-black eyes, the dying sun stars. Matt moved against him, running his hands up Near's slender chest, wrapping his fingers briefly around his throat, then lifting his hands to cup Near's face. Matt imagined throwing him onto the bed and showing him everything he'd been keeping from him. Matt imagined showing him what the little death really _could_ be, and how they had barely scratched the surface. He imagined tying him down and making him beg for something he's never felt. He imagined making him scream, making him writhe, making him come apart at the seams. He imagined making those black eyes winter-blue again. He imagined tearing him apart. He imagined breaking him.

Matt wanted to fuck him until Near couldn't remember his own name.

Matt curled his fingers into fists and closed his eyes. He saw the burning village and the child soldier, weeping as he killed his little brother. He saw Hani turning her face into the sound of Near's voice as he swore vengeance. He saw his mother's face, a haze now because a memory can only last so long. He saw the ruin of the church Mello burned in, dead already from the Death Note, dead because he hadn't listened, dead and alone. He saw K's beautiful, dispassionate face as she told him the news, as she told him Near won, as she told him that it was over and to never bother her again.

He saw Mello's glittering, bright green eyes set in Watari's weathered face. Both eyes and face did not approve.

Matt sighed, dropped his hands and made to move away.

"_No_." The word cracked through the air like a whip, wrought with frustration and tension. Near curled his fingers tightly into the fabric of Matt's shirt, holding him there.

Matt opened his eyes, surprised at the anger swimming in Near's charring gaze, despite fully expecting it. "Near--"

"Explain," Near said flatly, tightening his hold on Matt's shirt.

How could Matt possibly explain something to him that he could barely explain to himself?

Matt circled Near's wrists with both hands. "You're my glass menagerie," Matt murmured, his eyes burning as Near stared into them. "You're the one thing I can't break."

"I'm not as delicate as you think," Near snapped waspishly.

"I can break you," Matt said, tightening his grip on Near's wrists. He jerked Near's hands away from his shirt and held them above Near's head. Near's eyes smoldered, his chin lifted in defiance. If only he knew how much that did it for him. Matt squeezed, watching Near's face as it darkened, as the detective tried not to wince at the pain of his bones grinding together. "I can break you."

"Are you threatening me?" Near panted. No fear, only anger. Near was many things, but a coward was not one of them. Matt's blood raced in his veins, his heart slammed against his ribs.

"I don't want to break you," Matt said, abruptly releasing him. Near slowly lowered his arms, wary but not afraid. "I _won't _break you."

"Then why--"

"I break everything I touch."

"Danny-boy said that, so it can't be true." Near was gripping his shirt again. He wasn't desperate, but Near seemed stubbornly committed to preventing Matt from walking away from him.

Matt laughed. He touched Near's face tenderly, a wave of affection sweeping through him. "You're my glass menagerie," he repeated. "I can't break you, because you're all I have left."

"That's ridiculous."

"No its not."

"Its selfish."

Matt paused. "True."

"Idiocy," Near muttered, letting his hands drop from Matt's shirt. Matt didn't move away. Near's eyes flashed at him. "You're being pointlessly masochistic," he accused.

"I have reasons for everything I do," Matt disagreed.

"Or don't do," Near added sourly.

"Or half-do," Matt said with a smile.

"I refuse to beg," Near muttered, stepping around him and walking atop his card-patterns. Near crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"It's nothing but cabin fever," Matt murmured, hand on the wall where Near had been, head bowed. "It'll pass. Once we're off the ship--"

Near slammed down the metal pitcher. "And what if it doesn't?" he demanded.

Matt lifted his head but didn't turn around. "Then we'll deal with it." Matt didn't believe it was cabin fever either.

"By crossing the Bridge to Nowhere?" Near scoffed. "Sounds promising."

Matt didn't have anything to say to that. He disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

~*~

Dusk fell and beckoned another night, the last night aboard the cruise liner. Matt and Near began it in separate beds, sitting atop the covers and staring in different directions. The night hours dwindled into the early morning ones, the groan of the ship the only sound in the room to mark its passage.

Both were stubborn, but Near had the last word. Matt rose and crossed the little space between their beds and crawled beneath the sheets of Near's. Near looked at him for a long time as Matt held the bedcovers back for him. Finally Near relented and lay beside him. They held one another loosely, gazing at their interlaced fingers. Matt drifted off to sleep first. Near rested his head on Matt's shoulder at the first sound of the hacker's deep, even breathing. Soon, Near slept too.

Mello had had _enough_.

~*~

"Is this the nothingness?"

Mello turned slightly and looked at him over one shoulder. The earth was bone-dry and cracked, the wind gusted dust in every direction, the clouds above whipped across the sky so quickly it was hard to follow, the obscured sun blinking light past the edges like a strobe. The desert stretched on forever and blurred on the horizons, making the barrier between heaven and earth uncertain. Mello wore loose black slacks and a black, silk button down. He was perfectly aware of the contrast between he and his companion. Mello said: "Part of it."

Mello turned away again. "You cannot imagine what it was like coming here, certain he'd be here, searching for him for an eternity, only to find he was not." The gusts ripped and slashed at his words, carrying them with the dust this way and that. "I thought maybe he was too good for this place, that maybe he'd been sent to Heaven and I had to work to make it there too. It was devastating to think we'd been sent to different places because of the blackness in my heart."

"I want you to leave him alone," his companion said.

Mello whirled on him, a wrath building inside of him that maybe even _this_ place couldn't contain. "_Be grateful!_" His words boomed across the harsh landscape, echoing off unseen terraces and making the cracked earth beneath their bare feet tremble. The heavens rushed above them. The wind gusted sporadically. "Be _grateful_!"

Even here, his companion looked like an angel. The piercing glow around the edges was because he did not belong here; Mello knew that but the effect was the same. The white was because of his natural coloring, his usual choice of dress. Mello had chosen it because it was how he remembered him.

Mello was not afraid of angels.

And if his companion was an angel then he was a demon. Mello was certain a demon would win in this place. Mello bared his teeth at him, embracing the bloodlust. But Mello could not fight the angel with power or force, because the angel was not an angel. The angel was a man. Mello had to fight this man like L had fought the other man who paraded as a god. With wits.

Or.

Or he could find another way. A way that did not include battle. One that did not include war. The problem wasn't that Mello did or did not have claim on a mortal. It wasn't that at all. The problem was that he _saw _what was ahead, and he _saw _that things had changed because the angel had chosen very difficult paths to follow. The problem was that it cast the mortal into perilously shadowy places, places Mello couldn't _see_ clearly.

So how to explain why leaving the mortal alone was completely, utterly, irreversibly _out_ of the question?

Certainly not by making war. Mello sighed and felt the anger slip out of him. That was the utmost _best _thing about being dead. One only had to hold on to any particular emotion when they felt it suited them. They did not have restricting skin suits to trap it all in.

Mello said: "You fucked everything by going to Abu Ghraib, you dimwitted fool."

His angelic companion blinked at him. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You're a dimwitted fool."

The angel made a dismissive motion with his hand. The motion enraged him. The angel said: "You're destroying his mind. You cannot _linger_ with him. It will make him go mad."

"Do not presume to know what is better for him," Mello hissed.

The angel raised one delicate brow. "And if I do?"

The bloodlust boiled inside of him again. Mello bared his teeth. "Be careful."

"I am not afraid of you."

Mello laughed humorlessly. "You should be." He said: "If I am as you think, if I am residual energy, then I could manipulate anything of my kind, could I not? I could manipulate anything that is energy. Think on that and tell me you should not be careful."

The angel became quiet; Mello watched him think. The angel said: "You're different today. You've been kinder before."

"Priorities are different now."

His angelic companion nodded in agreement. "What is it you want me to do?"

"You made me a promise," Mello said, the bloodlust ebbed once again. "You gave me your word. I intend to see you keep it."

"I am." The angel seemed confused again. "What more can I do?"

"You can stop fucking it up," Mello snarled. "I've watched you for three days, and you continue to fuck it up."

The angel was silent for a long time. "I think we're talking about different things," he said quietly.

Mello gave him a long-suffering look. "Your problem, _precisely_, is that you over-think."

The heavens rushed above them. The shadows deepened. The gusting winds roared between them, whipping their clothes about.

The angel said: "Did you love him? Like he loved you?"

"More," Mello said. "I don't expect you to understand _that_."

Finally, the angel seemed baited. His white, glowing features darkened. "Hypocrite," he said. "If it was true, you would leave him alone. If it was true, you would let him move on."

Mello was satisfied with the slip in the angel's calm demeanor. He did not become angry. He said: "Perhaps. Maybe." He said: "Know that if I put up the barrier--know that if I let him go; know I will haunt you until you die. Understand that. I will _always _keep watch." Mello said: "Are you willing?"

The angel was not happy. The angel frowned deeply. There was a crack of thunder to the west. They turned their faces toward the sound.

Dawn was coming. The dawn trumpeted from the west in this place. "Are you willing?" Mello repeated.

"Fine," the angel said. "If that is what it takes, then we have terms."

"We have terms," Mello echoed. "Do not be like every other miserable soul in that place or the next. Listen carefully to _everything _I say. Be grateful. Be careful. _Listen_."

The angel continued to frown. "We have terms," the angel repeated.

Thunder cracked in the west. The heavens rushed above them.

**To be continued...**

**After Note**: I had a small, teensy problem with, um, crashing my boyfriend's computer last week, mid-chapter. This is another reason why it took dreadfully long to write and post this update. Graciously, James' roommates allowed me the use of their computer. Of course, the computer did not have any sort of Microsoft Word and therefore no spellcheck program. The bulk of the chapter was sent to the marvelous Doumi for the beta, so most of it went through a thorough edit; however, the author's note and any responses to reviews written afterwards are not. Forgive and _ignore_ any babbling, mispellings, homophones errors, tense crack-ups and obnoxious MIA punctuation marks. Thanks!

**Cu-Kid**: I absolutely adore that pic! I'm going to print out all the art from you and Doumi and frame it and put all over my walls to oggle! Thank you! And thanks for another fantastic review!

"Halle, Rester, and co." *laughs* Well thanks for calling it intrigue! Its as difficult to write as it is to read, I think. If you want some good intrigue, read Jacqueline Carey's _Kushiline Trilogy_! She has the last word on intrigue, I'm telling you.

I agree that Matt's behaviour in the beginning of the chapter was definitely as important as the release of tension at the end. It shows an immense amount of character for him, and also gives us an idea of what it is to be a W. Can you imagine the hours and hours Watari stood by patiently as L thought and thought and _thought_?! I mean, its an incredible notion in my head. I can barely wait patiently for an hour whilst my boyfriend whittles away on his Xbox! I turn into a raging bich by Hour Two! But with Matt, its easy to imagine it being effortless for him to stand at attention and with great severity and a sense of real responsibility and awareness while the current L thinks for some twelve hours. I'm so happy you noticed that! Because I felt it was extremely important.

I'm also happy you seem at your wits end with all three of these guys, Mello, Matt _and _Near. I feel, when writing people, its important to write them with flaws, to have them make mistakes, to be obnoxiously needy, to allow them to give in to their self-interests at the expense of a greater harmony--because its human nature. We, as readers, can almost always spot the happy medium, the right choice, but when _we_ are the character, we often make the same mistakes and become a little self-involved. This is what is happening with these guys, they all have their own agenda, because people always do, they all have their own insecurities, because people always do, and they all look at what is happening from their point of view like they're the victim of some seeming random, or un-random, turn of events, because people do that too. This is what makes people fascinating to me, and this is why I'm thrilled you're a little fed up with the three of them chasing their own and each other's tail.

The awesome thing about building tension within character relationships, and by extension, with the reader, is that when the character's find a momentary release, the effect is the same with the reader as well. Its like being able to breathe after hyperventilating. I'm glad of your reaction! Means I might be doing something right.

Yes! Your art helped me, and helped again! I cannot express to you how much of an honor it is to have art done of my story. I feel like its the highest form of praise a fan-author can get--and its also inspiring to inspire! It really makes me feel like I'm walking on clouds! Thank you again!


	14. Chapter 14

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: The Bridge  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: Hm. None that we haven't covered before, I don't think.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hello readers! I am very satisfied with this chapter—especially after **Doumi's** beta and thoughtful pointers and sharp eye for detail. (Thank you so much! You're the best!). I feel it has more balance than the previous one—with equal parts of dark, hard themes, humor, adventure, mystery and, well, sex.

For anyone who is interested, every time I sit down to write an update for this story, I try to figure out a new song that would equally express each of our three main characters' personalities. I recently decided that Fake It by Seether was exceptionally inspirational for Mello. A strange mix of When I'm Gone by 3 Doors Down and amusingly Crank That by Soulja Boy helped this week with Matt. And Until the End by Breaking Benjamin did wonders for Near. Also, as a whole, for all three, I find that I can listen to The Beginning is the End is the Beginning by Smashing Pumpkins for a whole hour and think of nothing but Scattering Ashes without getting irritated. Give them a listen! I'd love to know your opinion—and also if you have any ideas for new music.

An incredible, awe-inspiring new art came from **Cu-kid** a few days ago. PLEASE go check out "Escape from Abu Ghraib" by **Cu-kid** at **cu-kid[DOT]deviantart[DOT]com/art/Escape-from-Abu-Ghraib-113289947** and tell her how awesome she is.

Yours,

Gloria

P.S. I also want to say that existence of Douglas Deliverance Dane and many themes I write in this story about the origins of Wammy's and its first few generations of students come from themes I have pondered and characters I've created with the inspiration of **Doumi's** ideas for her fic **Thanks for the Memories**. If you would like to explore these characters with us in further detail, **Thanks for the Memories** is posted on AFF[DOT]net under **Doumi's** penname. We'd love to hear what you think!

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Fourteen

**The Bridge**

"_Only_

_There is a shadow under this red rock,_

_(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),_

_And I will show you something different from either_

_Your shadow at morning striding behind you_

_Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;_

_I will show you fear in a handful of dust."_

**~From "The Burial of the Dead", The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot**

July 23rd, 2013

The roof again.

Mello had had a fear of heights, when they were little. It was never properly reasoned, but he wasn't one to pry. They had worked it out. They were a team like that, from the very beginning. Mello would drag him outside and force him to have fun, and he would bring Mello onto the rooftop. Eventually, Mello stopped bitching, and so did he. Eventually, it all became something to laugh at later. Irrational fear became laughable.

He was not laughing now. Neither was Mello. Mello stood at the far end, perched like a weightless thing on the edge. He scaled the ancient shingles towards Mello, careful not to grip the clay moldings, knowing they would crumble to dust under the slightest pressure. The stone gargoyles were better, more reliable. Their ferocious silent snarls offered unmoving blunt jaws to grip, their bat-winged backs perfect footholds. It was tricky, but he knew this obstacle course and swung himself up on the ridge effortlessly. Only then did Mello turn and regard him.

Mello's face was dark but bright around the edges, like the impenetrable shadows were glowing; his eyes a milky jade, unreadable, unnatural. He might have smiled, but Mello's face was too dark to tell. "Hi."

"Hi," he echoed, turmoil twisting knots in his stomach. "You hate me now, don't you?"

Mello tilted his head to one side. "Of course." The shadows brightened. "Of course not."

He chuckled briefly, and then sighed. "Ah, Mello; you fucker."

"Arrogant prick," Mello retorted, but there was no sting to it, instead the sarcastic affection that was as familiar to them as the back of their own hands. Mello reached for him.

He went, and was surprised when Mello's touch was warm on his skin. Mello's long arms wrapped gently around him, patient as he became accustomed to the change, to the heat, to the sense that it might be real. He melted against Mello, resting his face against Mello's bare shoulder, pressing his cheek against the familiar cool leather, skin the color of new cream against the harsh slash of shiny black. Spilled milk on black marble. He closed his eyes, content that even the scent seemed real. Mello used to make him think of brand new cars, crisp leather surprisingly yielding under the slightest pressure, firm yet malleable. Purring as it submitted to clever fingers that knew every flip to switch, every button to press. He tightened his arms around Mello's slim waist, refusing to let him go this time. This time, he was not going anywhere.

Mello spoke softly into his ear. "At the center of our galaxy, there is dead star; a super massive black hole where not even light can escape. It pulls hundreds of thousands of suns and solar systems into its gravity, like ours. It is so majestic, it even enslaves thousands of sun stars to circle it like water circling the drain, an entourage of massive, flaming balls of energy—just as big, and most times bigger than our sun—damned servants that could potentially create their own solar systems, doomed to be eaten by the one that died."

"You're fucking crazy, Mello," he said, pressing a kiss to the shoulder with skin like new cream.

"Hush," Mello said. "But even sun stars enslaved to the dead one have a weapon. They have their own gravity. No, not nearly as powerful as the dead one they serve, but just enough to gravitate to one other sun star in their doomed rotation. They dance around each other, these two sun stars, faster and faster and faster, until the energy created between them becomes explosive. And when that explosion comes, it comes in a burst of gravitational implosion, restricting in on itself until it shoots outward. The lucky sun star is hurtled into the great vacuum, away from the awesome pull of the dead one. The lucky sun star escapes, is given a chance to attract its own solar system, its own cluster, or, if it so chooses, it can simply wander the universe. It can do whatever it pleases, because the lucky sun star is free."

He lifted his head and peered into the milky jade gaze. "What happens to the unlucky sun star?"

Mello smiled gently, moving his hands to cup his face. "The unlucky sun star is hurtled the other way. The unlucky sun star is swallowed by the dead one." Mello stroked his cheek. "Even in the brutal chaos of the universe and its endless cosmos, second chances are provided, sacrifices are demanded as the price of freedom, and the dead have more power than the living." Mello ran his fingertips under his cornflower blue eyes. Mello lowered his head and kissed him.

When Mello pulled away, it seemed much too soon. He protested, dug his fingernails into the leather, and jerked Mello back to him. They ignited, ah, so much like they used to. Fire in his mouth, fire in his blood, fire all around him. Mello was all around him.

"I would give anything," he said to Mello between flames, between kisses. "I would give anything, _sacrifice_ anything to have you back."

"Even Near?"

"Even Near," he said with conviction, with desperation. "I'd walk away from it all; I swear it, if it would make you real again, like this. Oh God, Mello. I want you back. I want—"

"It's enough," Mello said, pulling back to look in his eyes. "It is enough, to know that."

Mello kissed him again.

A sob caught in his throat because it felt like goodbye.

"You ever think about falling off it?" Mello inquired, disentangling himself from him and pulling away.

He followed the jerk of Mello's chin with his eyes and glanced over the broad expanse of the multi-faceted roof, the turrets and tiers. Below, the estate sprawled on for acres, lush and green and wet. The steep, five-story drop would be fatal.

"Once or twice," he admitted, shrugging a little.

Mello smiled again, his white teeth flashing amidst the shadows of his face. "In eighty years or so, I'd like to show you some things." He took a step back.

His mouth felt cotton-dry. "Will you show me the cosmos, the dancing slave-stars?"

"Yes," Mello agreed, taking another step backward.

He swallowed. "It's a date then." He tried to smile back, but failed.

Mello took a final step back, his booted heels angled over the edge. "Yeah, it's a date."

Panic clawed at his throat. He reached out to stop him, afraid he would fall. Mello lifted one hand, stilling him with the motion.

"Irrational fear is laughable," Mello said, grinning like death itself.

"Mello…" He wanted to beg, but the futility of it stopped him. He watched Mello spread his arms, mimicking the crucified man that swung from the rosary around his throat. Mello twisted his hand, forcing it palm-forward.

Mello held up three fingers and counted off. "Three," Mello murmured. "Two." Mello waved, a slow curl of his fingers. "One."

And Mello fell.

~*~

Matt opened his eyes, his entire body quaking with the residual force of his dream. He blinked rapidly, focusing his gaze on the face inches away from his. Near's eyes were shut, but he appeared to be dreaming, the muscles moving jerkily behind the closed lids. Matt felt something a lot like physical pain lance across his chest, slashing through the burning hole that was already there, jaggedly dividing it into two equal parts. Matt's arm trembled as he reached over and curled it around Near's slim waist, pulling him closer. Maybe it was the heat of Near's body, Matt thought, that made his dream of Mello seem so real, so physical. It was torture, the fickleness of his subconscious. He knew he wanted Near, but knew also that Mello still held sway over the pieces of his heart. The nature of his dream was proof enough of that.

Pieces.

Broken, shattered, razor sharp pieces were all that was left of the thing that had loved Mello. His friend had taken it to the grave with him. Matt wished that even if he couldn't have it back, that at least Mello would let it _rest_ in pieces, let _him_ rest in pieces.

But then there was that terrible part of Matt, that damaged, masochistic part of him that hoped wildly that Mello wouldn't. That he would never leave—because Matt scared himself when he thought of what would become of him if Mello did move on. Matt was terrified that he would buckle under the pressure of the void, that the loss, the pain, would be too much to bare.

Near's white, curling hair tumbled across the pillow and swept across the long angles of his pale face. His silver lashes quivered, his mouth parted, his fingers twitched, and then his eyes opened in one slow, defined movement, alert and awake almost instantaneously. The piercing winter blue of his eyes bored into Matt, a subtle greeting and tenderness in the mere presence of color. But something those eyes saw in Matt's face made them suspicious, and Matt watched the guard come up, too transfixed by the phase to object. The pupils widened slowly, devouring the pale, wintry blue color until it had all but disappeared. The dying sun stars again. Matt looked away.

"We have to get ready to go," Matt said quietly. He looked back when Near didn't respond. Near was still staring at him, some mystery, some unfathomable thing moving behind those impenetrable now-dark eyes. They saw everything, didn't they?

This wasn't fair to Near. Something had to give; something had to stop. Matt could at least be honest.

"I dreamed of Mello," Matt murmured.

Near held up one hand and pressed his fingertips against Matt's lips, silencing him. "Your dreams are your own," he murmured. "You do not need to explain anything to me. I know enough about human nature to understand that you do and will always think of him." Near paused. "I will always try to not hold it against you."

Something softened inside of Matt, the unnamable source of why he kept Near at arm's length. Near's words sounded a lot like compassion and a promise for patience. Maybe…maybe this could work. Because that is all he would ever need from Near, and it was everything he never thought he could get. Matt felt something like relief.

Matt checked his watch and, seeing the time, disentangled himself and rose from the bed. His emotional turmoil muted, allowing his training to take over his thought process. He needed to figure out how he was going to get Near off the ship and as far away from the cities of Southern California as possible. He needed time to organize safety precautions, gauge the threat of these hate crimes against albinos, and sort out exactly what the Bridge to Nowhere was, and its location.

In Japan, when Matt went through Mello's list and began planning their travel, his code had told him the term 'Bridge to Nowhere' was the name of an actual bridge somewhere in California state—which was why Matt had decided to book passage from Boston to Long Beach on the cruise liner that would take them through Panama in the first place. Now that they were here, Matt probably needed to take Near far out of the way to keep him safe. Southern California was a cesspool of violence and criminal gang fare. If there was a warrant on Near, Matt needed to take him as far north as possible before setting out for the bridge, wherever, exactly, it was.

As it happens, being W had its perks.

Matt ran a hand over his face and reached inside his duffel for a phone he'd previously lifted off a fellow passenger. He hacked into the mainframe and dialed a friend. Near watched him carefully, his chin perched atop his knees.

"Stevie!" Matt greeted when the line connected.

"_Who's askin'_?" Steve's gruff voice answered.

"M," Matt said. "I need a favor."

"_Uh…um, listen, M, this is kinda a bad time_."

Matt laughed good-naturedly. "It's always a bad time with you." Matt met Near's dark eyes and looked away. "It's nothing big," Matt said. "Just need wheels. I'll wire incentive—you know I'm good for it."

Matt listened to Steve's long, resigned sigh, followed by the shrill of what sounded like a very irate woman. Steve said something, muffled, presumably, by his hand to the woman shrieking at him. Then: "_Yeah, yeah, yeah; what and where_?"

"Hm." Matt fumbled through his duffle and produced a toothbrush. "Ninety-seven Jag, silver, sunroof. Cruise terminal, Long Beach, Windsor Way. Just park it and go; you don't have to be there when I pick it up." Matt glanced at Near again, taking in his thoughtful expression before heading for the bathroom.

"_Got it_," Steve said. "_Use the same wire from last time_."

"Cool." Matt squeezed some toothpaste onto his toothbrush and popped it into his mouth. "Oi," Matt mumbled around the toothbrush.

"_Yeah_?"

"Make sure there's a sunroof."

Another long, resigned sigh. "_I hate the British_," Steve grumbled offhandedly. "_Goodbye M_."

"Bye Stevie."

It wasn't until Matt was rinsing his mouth out that he noticed Near standing in the doorway.

"Who is 'Stevie'?" Near murmured in his usual flat voice.

"It's 'Steve', actually," Matt said, wiping his mouth with a towel. "I just call him 'Stevie' to piss him off."

Near didn't find it amusing. "Another 'friend' then?"

Matt straightened and regarded him thoughtfully. Finally, after a short struggle, he said: "Well, not quite. He's D's friend."

Near's fair brows scrunched together briefly. "Deliverance?"

Matt smiled, simultaneously amused and impressed that Near remembered the name. Douglas Deliverance Dane was an active member of Watari's network, nestled nicely inside the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and also a former student of Wammy's. Deliverance often brought 'gifts' to the orphanage, and, in fact, had been the agent to stumble upon Matt when he was a child, and ultimately brought him to the attention of the famed, mysterious inventor and his prodigy L. "Yes. Steve wanted in the queue, but D never got him cleared before Watari died; so now, I guess…"

"It's your decision," Near finished for him.

Matt shrugged. "Yeah."

"Can he be trusted?"

"D trusts him."

"I'm not asking D."

"And I'm not very fucking prolific," Matt snapped suddenly. "I'd like to think up all sorts of scenarios that would test this man's character, but I find myself distracted by keeping the current L alive at the moment, so really, you'll have to forgive me."

"You like him."

Matt sighed, frustrated with himself snapping at Near. "Yeah, he's a good guy; I think, anyway. But—Okay, listen: It's not really about Steve. Did you know D wants to retire?"

Near blinked slowly. "No. I did not."

Of course. Matt felt the frustration dissipate. Near would have no way of knowing D wanted to retire because Matt had, like a selfish idiot, kept him in the dark for the better part of a decade. "D's up for retirement in the FBI next year, and…he hasn't heard from Wammy's in a long time, so—"

"Ah." Near turned as if to return to the room, but then paused, one hand on the doorframe. "Did he enjoy being D?"

"He lived for it," Matt said softly.

"Well," Near said slowly. "Tell him that I am reactivating him, if he still wants his post, and if not, he can retire with my blessing." Near looked up at him through a fringe of curling white hair. "We could do this thing, together, you and I; L and W. I think, anyway."

Matt held his look for a long moment. "We could," he admitted; and smiled.

Two hours later, they had made their way through customs and found the Jaguar left for them in the parking lot by Steve, or Stevie, or maybe just S, if Matt ever made up his mind about the man. Matt retracted the sunroof as he pulled onto the seven-ten and headed out of Long Beach. Beside him, Near grumbled under his breath about the oppressive heat. Certainly, it was a warm day and brightly sunny—normal for a summer California day in July. Matt cheerfully commented that it would be some ten degrees hotter where they were headed and lit a cigarette.

"And where is that, precisely?"

"Safe house," Matt replied around the butt, the roar of the wind whipping through the vehicle as they sped down the highway almost drowning out his words. "Mouth of the Cajon Pass; we'll be there in two hours—give or take, depending on traffic."

"Is it close to the bridge?"

"Not sure yet. Once I get hooked up to my network, I'll have more details."

"No hotel this time?"

Matt laughed. "You sound disappointed. No, I can't risk you being seen if someone's trying to off you. I'll be looking more into that too." Matt glanced sidelong at Near. "It's a safe house L and Watari used to use, I'm sure you'll find it more than accommodating."

Near turned slightly, pulling his sunglasses down his nose a fraction and regarding Matt solemnly. "I'd wondered," Near said after a long pause, "what had happened to L's safe houses; I'd only ever been exposed to Wammy's and the one L used in Japan."

Matt smiled at him. "We have dozens, all over the world."

Much to his surprise, Near smiled back at him.

Another two hours flew by, and Matt veered off the two-ten and onto the fifteen, heading into the Cajon. In the passenger seat, Near sat curled in on himself and staring out the window, the glasses and cap obscuring what Matt was sure to be an otherwise bland expression. After entering the mountain pass, Matt exited the highway and took a road that winded into the large, rocky hills, past small towns and into a sparse neighborhood with few homes and even fewer trees. Matt rolled up the windows and closed the sunroof as they slowed, the sporadic gusts of wind picking up yellow dirt and swirling it around the road. Matt pulled off the road behind an exceptionally large rock and parked. In front of them was a haggard shed, looking rather worse for wear.

"Here?" Near asked, straightening.

"Here." Matt pulled the keys out of the ignition and grabbed the duffle from the backseat. "Come on, let's go."

With wary movements, Near followed Matt through the clouds of dust and into the shrub, picking their way through the prickly bushes and cacti towards the shed. Once inside, Matt dropped the duffle by Near's feet, told him to stay put, and went back to the car. There was an earth-toned tarp by the rock, and Matt used it to cover the Jaguar. When he returned, Near had taken off his sunglasses, and he looked more than irritated.

"Really, Matt, I cannot imagine L ever suffering a place like this—the roof looks about to cave in."

Matt laughed. "It's supposed to look that way, but it won't," he promised, pointing. "Inside the wood is steel beams and iron plating; this place is as sturdy as it gets."

Near's mouth set in a surly frown. "I refuse to camp in a shed."

"Easy killer." Matt shouldered the duffle and headed towards the back. "Follow me." Matt paused in front of a particular wall of rotten wood, and lifted a flap of brown material that blended perfectly with the wooden panel. He placed his hand inside, where the computer within scanned his fingerprints. Then another beam shifted and a mechanical retina scanner protruded from the faux rotting wood. A line of red passed over Matt's right eye, then shifted and repeated the scan over his left. Then scanner retreated into its hiding place and triggered the release. The entire wall shrank back and slid to the left, revealing a metallic shaft just large enough for the two of them to step inside. Matt grasped Near's hand and pulled him forward, urging him inside the shaft first. Once inside, the door slid shut and the elevator brought them down. After a few dozen feet, the door reopened and they stepped into the safe house.

Matt watched Near with a smile as the man walked forward, taking off his cap and letting it dangle from his fingertips. Matt had never decided if he was going to fully take up the mantle as W, so he could never be too certain that Near would utilize any of the safe houses his predecessor had used. However, that hadn't stopped Matt from preparing just in case.

The former L's safe houses were customized to Lawliet's particular…personality. They were all stockpiled with confectionary, silver serving trays, crystal and china serving ware, mountains of books and hard files, and low chairs, set to a certain sturdiness. Plenty of tea, plenty of coffee, and separate offices for L and Watari as L often preferred solitude when pondering a case. And, strangely, the walls had often been tiled with jade and green-tinted glass. Matt still hadn't figured out if that was L's preference or Watari's, but at this point, it certainly didn't matter.

Now, the safe houses were re-customized for Near—and Matt watched Near's reaction to it with a great deal of pleasure. Four walls were committed wholly to the creation of toys and small dolls. There were dozens of shelves with four inch blocks of wood, every sort of type imaginable, and the tools necessary to carve them with in drawers below. Paint of varying colors, there was also, and paint brushes. An iron sink beside that, for washing, and beyond that a small den stocked with thousands of dice, cards, and puzzles. The carpet was thick and soft, but sturdy and flat, a deep, royal blue color, and expansive. There were only a few pieces of furniture, because Matt knew Near preferred to work on the floor. A chair behind the desk where Matt would work—which held, a testament to Matt's vanity, no less than twelve monitors and an intricate network of modems and appliances—and two beds in separate rooms toward the back; Matt hadn't planned on being Near's lover when he redesigned the safe house. A large marble bathroom was set beside the second bedroom with a private entryway to and from, and a moderate kitchenette opened up on the far side of Matt's desk.

"If there's anything I've forgotten," Matt said softly to Near's frozen back, "I can get it for you."

Near turned and Matt stepped backwards, somewhat staggered by the grin that split the normally severe set of the detective's face. Standing there beaming at him with that silly grin on his face, Matt thought Near actually looked _normal_ and…young. He'd get carded at a smoke shop with that smile. He also looked devastatingly sexy.

"Don't be absurd," Near murmured, his voice breathy and hushed, as if afraid he'd break some spell with the sound of it. His eyes were piercingly blue. "It's perfect."

Matt stepped forward, close enough to place his hand on Near's hip. He seemed to have lost the ability to breathe, looking at that abnormally happy expression, those incredible blue eyes. "You like it?" he asked, smiling a little himself, reaching up to twine a lock of white hair around his finger.

"I find it more than suitable," Near answered, his voice now low and little husky.

Matt kissed him, feeling Near melt against him, fitted limb for limb, more perfectly than maybe it should be. Near's mouth was hot and eager under his, and Matt kissed him until Near had to pull back for air. Near smiled again, flushed from their kiss, and withdrew, distracted already by the bounty that waited for him. Near stood in the center of the room for a short moment, seeming undecided on what to fiddle with first, and then headed for the blocks of wood.

Matt approached the desk, a pleased, boyish grin hanging stupidly on his face, and turned on his computer.

~*~

It humored Near to give Rester's doll an exceptionally large, square face with a ferocious scowl, and he smiled a little to himself as he painted the faithful bodyguard's dark box-cut hair on the doll's head. By his internal clock, it was dwindling towards five in the evening and Near was beginning to get hungry. Near set his miniature Rester beside his miniature Halle, where she loitered among the dolls Matsuda and Aizawa, and rose to his feet. He padded into the kitchenette and retrieved a platter of grilled cheese sandwiches Matt had left for him and went back to his spot on the floor. A few feet away, Matt swore under his breath and squinted at one of his left screens, cornflower blue eyes darting across the code that ran horizontally and vertically all across the multiple pages.

"Found something?" Near inquired offhandedly, not quite expecting an answer.

As predicted, Matt muttered some indiscernible nonsense under his breath and pecked rapidly at a keyboard.

Since their arrival—or at least since Matt set to work—the hacker had become somewhat less than sociable. Matt had opted to read the code today instead of listening to it, mumbling something about not having that luxury if Near's life was in danger, and had instead turned on some awful metal music that sounded a bit like Matt's clanging when he cooked to help him concentrate. Near was still too pleased to complain, having so many things to occupy his hands so he could think properly. Surely, however, another twelve hours of that racket and Near would have to object.

Matt pressed the butt of a cigarette between his lips and lit the end, leaving the burning thing to dangle from his mouth. The smoke made interesting patterns on the reflection of his goggles, which dangled from the hacker's throat. His gloved hands paused over the keyboard, his fingers flexed, and then he sat back. Near took a bite of grilled cheese and chewed slowly, watching his companion across the room.

"What the hell is BlueShip?" Matt said suddenly, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and ashing into a nearby tray.

Near swallowed the bite and, as casually as he could, placed the sandwich back onto the platter. He crouched over his half-finished dolls and delicately selected the one he had created for K. "One word, or two?" he asked in a level voice.

Matt whirled the chair around so he could face Near directly, his cornflower blue eyes alert and suspicious. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"One word, or two?" Near repeated, glancing up at him.

"Does that _mean_ anything to you?" Matt grated through his teeth, as stubborn as the one before him.

"That depends," Near said, his dark eyes flashing with impatience, "on if it is one word, or two."

"One," Matt said, relenting. He gestured to monitors four and five. "These are telling me that the company that hired the Hezbollah is called BlueShip. And here," he said, scooting back and pointing at monitor eleven, "are the black market lists for mercenaries and underground networks. It's sending out a signal to every major crime lord and mafia family in the world. L has been a top priority for most of them since Lawliet first made a name for himself. Now, they have a physical profile."

"Albino," Near said, fingering the beaded bracelet around his right wrist, the scarlet red and milky white beaded extravagance that he couldn't bring himself to remove from his arms. The gift from the Kuna girl, a reminder of the vendetta he had every intention of reconciling.

"Yes," Matt said. He put the cigarette to his mouth again, and inhaled a long, smoky drag.

"Does the profile trace back to BlueShip?" Near asked, his voice a deadly calm.

"No, at least not that I can find." Matt turned back to his monitors, pointing again with gloved hands. "Here and here shows the correspondence coming out of Abu Ghraib during your time there. They confirm the existence of a prisoner to the third party, BlueShip, but there was no response. They do not say anything about your coloring, but the lack of response leads me to believe that BlueShip expected you to be executed immediately. After your extraction, the physical profile popped on the grid, coinciding with the rise in hate crimes against albinos."

"Hezbollah?"

Matt glanced at him. "That would be the easy answer," he said, stabbing out his smoke in the ashtray. "But I don't think even the Hezbollah would be expansive enough to spread the word on a global level, especially after we cleaned Abu Ghraib."

Near traced K's unpainted features with his index finger, the doll a solemn caricature of the beautiful woman from one of his faintest memories. He set her down and rose to his feet, approaching the shelves with four-inch blocks of wood. "BlueShip," he murmured.

"Does it mean anything to you?" Matt asked quietly, watching him.

Near selected five pieces of redwood and returned to the center of the floor. "BlueShip is an environmental group," Near informed him flatly.

"How did you manage to piss off a bunch of tree-huggers?" Matt asked incredulously.

Near met his disbelieving eyes and smiled thinly. "Where is the Bridge to Nowhere?"

Matt frowned at him and turned back to the monitors. He set four of them to search the network for anything and everything to do with BlueShip, turned off the screens, and went back to work, this time to plan their next venture.

Scarcely an hour later, Matt made a strange gurgling noise. It sounded like he was desperately trying to smother a snicker, and ended up choking on the private amusement instead. Near glanced up from his castle of cards, made completely out of Jacks of Hearts, and held up by his dolls Aizawa, Matsuda, Rester, Halle, Danny-boy, K, and the five most recent 'B.S.' figures, the letters painted across their chests in blue. Matt's gloved hand was pressed tightly over his mouth, his eyes, obscured by his goggles, trained on one of the many monitors, and his entire body shook with what Near assumed to be laughter.

"What is it?"

Matt turned his head in Near's direction and, after a moment, pulled his hand away from his mouth and pushed his goggles up his forehead, mussing up his auburn hair. Near could just make out the jagged scar running the length of his temple. "Oh," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Um…I need to go get some gear."

Instantly suspicious, Near rose to his feet. "Gear?" he echoed.

Matt bit his lip and scratched his face. "Yeah," he affirmed, another laugh catching the end of the word. "I'll be right back." His right hand flew over the keyboard, causing all the monitors to black out, except the ones wired to the security cameras, and got up. "Come here."

Near listened, wary of Matt's sudden mirth, as the hacker explained how to lock down the safe house in the event of an intruder and that he should be back before eight. Then Matt surprised him with an unexpected kiss, another laugh, and was gone before Near could catch his wits. He stared at the computers for a long moment before attempting to get the screens back on-line. After a frustrating, futile half-hour, Near went back to his castle.

True to his word, Matt returned before eight, carrying several bags from a place called 'Bass Pro Shop' and wearing a decidedly insufferable smirk on his face. Near had thought himself into circles at what could be so obstinately funny for the better part of two hours and was in a sour mood by the time Matt arrived.

"What _is_ all this?" Near demanded, gesturing to the bags. "And if you say 'gear', I might actually hit you."

Matt laughed and pulled out a box from one of the bags. Inside the box was pair of hiking boots. "See if these fit," he said, tossing Near the shoes.

Near did not try to catch the offending things and let them topple to the floor. "Oh no," Near said. "No, no, no."

"The Bridge to Nowhere is within the Azusa Mountains," Matt said conversationally, retrieving a second box and sitting on the floor to try on his pair of boots. "We actually passed it on the way up here."

"Why do we need hiking boots?" Near growled, not in the slightest bit amused.

"Um, because the bridge is some five miles in."

"Five miles in from where?"

"From where we park the car." Matt laced up the boots and seemed pleased with the fit.

"No," Near said.

"There's a trail," Matt said, inspecting the heel of his left boot. "We'll have to cross the river a few times, but I'm certain there'll be markers."

"No," Near said.

"Tomorrow, there's a group hiking out to the bridge with a guide. We'll have to be there by seven to catch the outing."

"No," Near said.

"Did you know that the bridge was used to during the World War I? All the roads got destroyed during a few pretty nasty mud slides and floods since then, but the bridge is still there, hale as ever."

"Matt."

"What?"

"What part of me, precisely, screams 'adept at wilderness'?"

Matt drew his knees up and grinned. "Try your boots on."

"Why can't we just fly to the bridge?"

Matt lifted a brow. "You mean like hand gliding? Or simply a helicopter?"

"Be serious."

"I'm not willing to draw any attention to you, Near, and arranging a drop to the bridge will do just that and more. It's a risk I'm not willing to take."

"But you're willing to drag an albino on a ten mile hike during a hundred degree, summer Californian day."

Matt smiled a little wider, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. "Come on, Near; it could be fun."

Near jabbed a finger towards his Jack of Hearts castle. "_That_ is my idea of fun." He pointed back at the Bass Pro Shop bags. "_That_ is not."

Matt's smile faltered, and then disappeared. His face became suddenly serious. "Do you want to go home? Say the word, and I'll take you back."

Near glowered at him. "That's not fair."

Matt shrugged. "I didn't make the list."

That was true. Another one of Mello's riddles for him to ponder. "Fine." Near sat on the floor and pushed one foot into a hiking boot. It actually fit quite nicely. He pulled it off again and tossed it across the room. "It fits, what else is there?"

Matt rolled his eyes and rummaged through the bag, muttering under his breath. Near caught the words "petulant" and "brat", but did not comment as they seem to have been said with some affection. And, well, because they were both entirely accurate.

~*~

Near stared at his reflection, appalled all over again that he was actually about to go _hiking_ through _mountains_. He wore a white, long-sleeved, loose-fitted shirt made of some unusually comfortable, threadbare material. His pants were khaki and breathable, and tucked into the waterproof boots Matt had purchased for him the evening before. He wore fingerless gloves with padding on the palms, a scarlet handkerchief, the same color as the beaded arm bracelets, to protect his neck and throat from the sun, and a khaki, wide-brimmed hat. Near thought he looked utterly ridiculous, and sighed.

"Near, have you put on the sun block?" Matt called from the main room.

"Not yet."

"Come here."

Near turned and left the bathroom, sullen and unhappy with the prospect of hiking, something he never thought he'd ever have to suffer. Surely, Abu Ghraib was a better fate for him than this.

Near looked up when he entered the main room, and caught his breath. Matt stood, bent over his key board, in an outfit…that probably should be illegal. Matt straightened, jabbing at the keyboard a few more times, and turned towards Near. Baggy, red-seamed dark pants, snug around his hips, loose everywhere else and tucked into his boots adorned his slim legs. The forgettable pants put more focus on Matt's torso. A black, sleeveless shirt stretched over the ridges of his muscles, fitted tight across his chest and long, black arm-sleeves hooked around each middle finger and covered most of each arm, leaving his shoulders bare. Obviously, the garments were chosen to keep him as cool as possible in the heat, while covering every scar on his limbs. The effect was drastically heart stopping. Near had the sudden thought that Matt almost looked like Mello, and took a step back.

Matt was giving him a strange look, his fingers fiddling with the bottle of sun block now held in his hands. "I know it's not really my style, but I couldn't risk ruining my favorite striped shirt—"

Near didn't remember moving forward, or reaching up to dig his hands in Matt's hair, but suddenly he was there, crushing Matt's mouth down on his. Matt gripped Near's shoulders tightly, responding instantly and sweeping his tongue inside Near's mouth. Near bit down on the tongue, relishing the gasp it produced, and hissing when Matt's teeth sank into his lip. A hand pressed into his lower back, pulling him closer into Matt, into the heat, into the sudden onslaught of lust that Near had promised himself he wouldn't beg for. Near thought now, as that hand reached lower and cupped his rear, squeezing, and grinding his hips into Matt's, that maybe he was losing that battle. If they continued on like this, Near thought he might be reduced to a simpering, lovesick thing before the end. He pulled away, trying to keep hold of some of his dignity, wanting to be the one to draw away first this time, and stepped back.

Matt panted, staring at him, his face flushed and lovely, his eyes dark like sapphires at twilight—a color Near was beginning to acquaint with desire. "We're going to be late," he said.

Near nodded, watching something dark and predatory move behind those eyes that stared at him. The eyes searched his face, looking for something. Whether they found it or not, Near wasn't sure, but when they lifted back up to meet Near's gaze, they were smoldering and almost black.

"I want to do something for you," Matt whispered, reaching out and untying the scarlet handkerchief from about Near's throat. Near felt the fabric whisper as it slid across his skin and then fell to the floor, discarded, unneeded.

"We have time," Matt murmured, stepping in close. He kissed Near's throat, softly, gently, a slight pressure of his lips against the vein. Then his teeth were there, grazing and scraping, drawing a long line of white-hot pleasure down Near's throat, to his collarbone. Matt's nimble fingers scaled the front of Near's shirt, unclasping the buttons and pulling it free of his khakis. Matt bit down on the flesh between Near's neck and shoulder, causing a jolt of pain to run the length of his spine and pool somewhere in his stomach. His phallus twitched, swelling as Matt pressed his tongue into the bite mark, soothing away the sting and pushing the threadbare shirt back across Near's slender, pale shoulders.

Matt lifted his head and pressed a long kiss against Near's mouth, backing him towards the desk, letting Near rest against the edge. Near's mind was swimming, a futile, dangerous attempt to keep wits with the pleasure coursing through him, to try and logically ascertain Matt's sudden spike of lust. Hell, maybe it was Near's kiss that sparked it, created the urgency forgotten aboard the ship. Near smiled against Matt's mouth, his fingers trailing the muscles of Matt's arms, a foggy sense of satisfaction filling him as he gave himself over to the sensation of Matt's hands against his skin, his tongue in his mouth, his scent all around him. Matt's fingers brushed down the length of Near's chest slowly, causing a shiver of pleasure to roll through him, followed by a trail of gooseflesh. The pad of one thumb paused over a nipple, and Near stiffened. Matt bit his lip again, eliciting a gasp. Pleasure thrummed through Near from all angles, from the roll of Matt's hips against his, from the teeth grazing his lip, from the fingers teasing his nipples. Near gripped Matt's arms, digging his fingernails into the arm sleeves and panting into Matt's mouth. Matt trailed smaller kisses along his jaw, back to the vein in his throat, lower and lower until his hot mouth snagged one of Near's now-erect nipples and bit down. Near's hands flew up to Matt's head, tangling his fingers into the auburn hair as he bit back a cry. Matt's tongue flicked across the throbbing nub, sending a new wave of shuddering pleasure through Near. Matt shifted, torturing the other nipple equally as his clever fingers moved over the zipper of Near's khakis.

"M-Matt," Near panted, quivering under Matt's talented mouth as he moved lower, kneeling now on the carpet in front of him.

"Shh." Matt pressed kisses down Near's torso, swirling his tongue around his naval, and then lower. Another whisper of fabric, and the khakis slipped down Near's slender hips, exposing his swollen phallus to the cool air.

Near bit his lip, his mind completely shutting down once he realized where that mouth was headed, and closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his closed lids, the sensations became sharper, more defined. He felt the flick of Matt's tongue against the tip of his phallus like a jolt of electricity. Of course, it was nothing compared to the fiery pleasure that shot through him when Matt's hot, wet mouth enveloped him completely. Near cried out then, bucking into the heat as Matt's tongue swirled around him. His entire body sang as Matt bobbed over him, humming slightly in his throat and causing little vibrations to thrum through him. Slender fingers moved gently under his sac, pressing on the sensitive spot just behind it. Sparks exploded behind Near's closed lids and his body jerked violently, the sensations too much and peaking. Near came with a shout, his fingers knotted in Matt's hair as he swallowed it all, sucking Near's phallus clean until it softened.

Matt pressed a kiss against Near's stomach before lifting his khakis back over his hips and pulling up the zipper. Then he stood, smiling crookedly as Near panted, and removed Near's hands from his hair. Matt let his hands settle about his waist as he straightened Near's shirt and refastened it. Then he stooped and picked up the discarded sun block and the handkerchief. Quietly, while Near recovered and leaned heavily against him, Matt applied sun block to the detective's face and neck. Afterwards, he retied the handkerchief and pulled back to look at Near's face.

"Told you today could be fun," Matt said.

Near laughed incredulously, drowsy from his orgasm.

"Come on, let's go," Matt said, pulling on Near's hand. "Now we really _are_ late."

Near protested and pulled back. "What about you?" Near inquired, placing his hand over the bulge in Matt's pants.

Matt groaned a little, and took Near's hand away. "Later," he promised.

~*~

Well, it worked.

Near seemed to be in a substantially better mood and trudged behind him as quietly as one who'd never been hiking before could. It was horribly hot, but the Azusa Pass had many trees and the river they followed kept the atmosphere relatively cool. And even when it was not, it was usually time to cross the river anyway and sloshing through the water lowered their temperatures effectively as well.

As it happens, Matt's detour from regular scheduling _did_ cause them to miss the group. Matt had parked the Jag at the end of East Fork Road, near the lot for the Ranger Station. The lot was full and Matt was forced to park a few meters down the road. They found San Gabriel River easily enough, as it was at the end of a short dirt road and across a tin pipe bridge wrapped with rocks and wire.

"Precarious," Near had commented, but crossed it without complaint or trepidation. Near was many things, but a coward was not one of them.

Matt had assumed the trail would be marked clearly, telling them precisely when to cross the river to either bank. Sadly, this was not the case, and Matt was forced to drag the poor detective with him over several crossings often before they found the right trail. The low trails had them climbing over bowling ball sized rocks that littered the banks like an oversized, stony beach. The higher trails took them up steep inclines into the rock face, causing them to tiptoe across dangerous ledges that often hid treacherous roots under moss that caught them about the ankles, causing them to trip more than once. That being said, the scenery was rather breath taking.

About an hour into the hike, Matt recognized Shoemaker Road several hundred meters above them to the north, and took them east. Matt stopped them there, once finding the mouth of the new trail, marked by a small stack of rocks, to allow Near to catch his breath. The detective was red-faced with exertion, his white hair slick with sweat and coiling against what was exposed of his pale face—which wasn't much, considering the massive, black sunglasses Matt forced him to wear, and the wide-brimmed hat Near had grumbled about when Matt had introduced it to him the day before. Matt helped Near out of his backpack—a relatively light affair with only the urn and some padding to protect it inside, and water bottles in the outer pockets—and instructed him to sit on a smooth, outcropped boulder at the edge of the rocky river bank. Matt's pack held most of the actual hiking gear: Foodstuffs, compass, a bit of rope, a climbing harness and ACT devices—just in case, but Matt didn't think they'd really become necessary—extra socks, hunting knife, flashlights, and about four different things of heavy sun block for Near. Matt was pretty sure he packed chap stick too. He set his heavy pack down, fished out a granola bar and a bottle of water, and sat next to Near on the boulder.

"How are you holding up?"

Near looked at him, accepting the granola bar and the water, his breathing heavy but restrained, as if he was trying to hide it. His face was even more indecipherable under the hat and protective eyewear. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

Cryptic. Matt lit a cigarette and pushed his goggles up his forehead, squinting against the sunlight as he gazed out over the rushing water. "Pretty, isn't it?"

Near took a drink of water, his breathing beginning to even out, and nodded. "Strange; it somewhat reminds me of Israel."

Matt hummed a little in agreement, cracking his neck and stretching his arms over his head. "They have mountains a lot like this." He glanced sidelong at Near. "You were knocked out when we passed most of them though."

Near's face went a bit red again, and his mouth turned down into a rather surly frown. Apparently, he did not much like being reminded of passing out on the jet that had flown them into the country.

Matt laughed and nudged him with his shoulder. Near made a strange motion with his head, and Matt imagined he was rolling his eyes beneath the sunglasses. Near nudged back, his frown becoming slightly less severe. "You ready?"

Near nodded again and accepted Matt's hand when he offered it, coming to his feet more lightly than the hacker had expected. They re-shouldered their packs and resumed the trail.

Some forty-five minutes later, Matt forced Near to cross the river to avoid a twenty-four inch garter snake and had to pick a new trail back to the old one for safety. Unfortunately, the new passage cost them another half hour, but Matt spotted trail markers sending them east again and soon they were back on track. Another three miles and several breaks, to Near's quiet appreciation, later, the trail seemed to come to an abrupt halt; however, after twenty minutes of tracking, Matt found that it veered sharply to the left, taking them up into a steep incline. Near commented on the red hue of the earth exposed by the cliffs, saying somewhat about a mud bank he'd noticed in Panama. Matt told him about the red earth he'd encountered in Africa during his time there, but kept the belief of a millennia of blood soaking the dirt being the cause of it to himself. Matt did not see Near's curious expression behind the thick sunglasses.

Another half an hour brought them into a solid trail through a field of prickly, snagging California buckwheat and acres of pleasant-smelling wild sage. Matt was glad he'd opted to have them both wear pants, as the brush and cacti scratched often at their legs on the seemingly untended trail. Near bore it without complaint, but Matt could sense it was irritating the man as much as it did him. The trail through the buckwheat narrowed dramatically, forcing the two of them to walk single file. Matt heard the soft, warning clatter of a rattlesnake's tail and reached behind him for Near's hand without comment, hurrying them along silently until the rattle ceased.

Picking their way through the field, the sun beating mercilessly down on them, Matt and Near finally found the remnants of the old road, washed away in nineteen-thirty-nine. The canyon opened up on the left side, giving berth to the impressive red-golden gorge below and the thin trickle of water from the San Gabriel River, low tide now in the summer months. And there, directly northeast of them, was the bridge. It cut from one side of the canyon clear across the gorge to the other side. Behind Matt, Near slowed.

But Matt knew it wasn't the massive bridge that made him pause, it was the group that loitered on the bridge itself. There was a shout, a short chanting from those assembled on the bridge, and then an echoing shriek, followed by the trill of ecstatic laughter, bouncing and ringing off the canyon walls. The group cheered, Near all but stopped on the trail.

Before Near could object, Matt grabbed his hand again and tugged him along. Three large Labrador retrievers, with identical thick, golden coats lumbered towards them as they rounded the bend. They seemed especially interested in Near, who recoiled from their happy, slobbery tongues as he tried to squeeze past them. Matt couldn't help it, he laughed. Near instantly whirled on him, his complacency vanished and replaced with a deadly glare. One of the dogs managed to dance in close and, with tail wagging, licked Near's hand, smearing drool all over his glove. Near's face contorted in disgust and he snatched his hand away.

"Go away," he hissed at the three dogs, while Matt continued to laugh.

"They think you have food," a friendly voice called out to them.

"Well, I don't," Near snapped, pulling his hat lower over his face and turning toward the sound. Matt watched him eye the dogs as he moved, obviously perturbed at how all three of them sat in a semi-circle around Near, tongues lolling and tails wagging happily. Near jabbed a finger back at Matt. "_He_ has the food; why aren't they bothering him?"

The man that approached them shrugged and smiled cheerfully, whistling through his teeth. The dogs answered dutifully and trotted over to their master. The man was tan and as golden-blond as his dogs. He flashed another white smile and Matt stepped forward. "Are you Bill?"

"I am," Bill said, extending his hand. Near shrank back against the rock face as Matt shook his hand. "You're our two M.I.A.'s then?"

"Sure are," Matt said with friendly smile, adjusting the pack across his shoulders. "This is Nathan," he said, gesturing to Near. "And I'm Mike. Nice to meet you."

"Great," Bill said. "Follow me. You missed the instruction so there's a few things I need to show you."

"Ma-_ike_," Near said behind Matt, a warning in his voice.

Matt ignored him and followed the instructor onto the bridge, sure that Near was trailing close behind. The group of hikers and adrenaline junkies crowding the bridge pressed close to one side as a slender Asian girl, strapped snugly into a harness, stepped over the rail and stood on a hidden platform on the other side. A thick, padded bungee chord was buckled to her harness. Matt paused, close enough now to hear the chant.

"Three," the crowd cheered in unison as another instructor held up three fingers and counted off. The girl looked terrified, her dark eyes wide and staring into the instructor's smiling face, her knuckles white as they gripped the rail, her back to the gorge below. "Two…one!" The instructor waved to her, a slow curl of his fingers, and the girl launched herself backwards.

Matt felt a chill run the length of his spine. He looked back towards Near as the girl screamed, falling into the gorge and bouncing as the bungee chord caught her and swept her into the air again. Near was spasmodically shaking his head from left to right, his eyes wide and furious.

Bill held up two harnesses. "This one will go around your waist and support your thighs and buttocks," Bill said cheerfully. "And this one will go around your torso. They'll fasten here with this, and this is what we connect to the bungee chord. And this…"

"You tricked me," Near hissed in his ear. "I refuse to do this."

"Why would Mello send you all the way out here if he didn't want you to jump?" Matt responded.

"I'm certain this is not the only Bridge to Nowhere in the world," Near growled. "There's one in New Zealand, in fact; I'm sure of it."

"We were closer to this one," Matt murmured, watching as Bill showed them how to put on the harnesses. "And they jump off of that one too."

"I refuse."

"It'll be a long walk back," Matt said, "knowing you wimped out."

"You're attempting reverse psychology and rotten trickery," Near hissed back. "It won't work, not on me."

"I know Mello," Matt said, turning his face toward Near and thinking of his dream. "I know he would want you to jump."

"It is madness to hurtle oneself off of a perfectly good bridge."

"Mello was crazy," Matt said shrugging. "It makes perfect sense to me."

"These chords are designed to hold ten times their designated weight," Bill offered.

Near glared at him, and Bill looked away chuckling. Then Near looked at Matt, a fierce, cruel glint in his hard, dark eyes. "I'll do it on one condition."

"Which is?" Matt asked.

"You do it with me."

"Done," Matt agreed with a satisfied smirk.

"You did not let me finish." Near took off his backpack and unzipped it. He retrieved Mello's urn, watching Matt's face as he winced. "Ashes and everything, you do it with me."

"No," Matt breathed, fear pooling in his stomach at the notion of touching Mello's ashes.

"Then no deal," Near said, and placed the urn back into the backpack.

Matt drew in a long breath and held it. He watched a balding, three hundred pound man struggle into his harness. He thought of Mello, his boots dangling off the edge, the slow curl of his fingers, the countdown. "Shit."

Matt pulled a pack of smokes from his back pocket and lit one, taking a long drag and expelling it slowly. "Irrational fear is laughable," Matt muttered. "Joke's on me this time." He turned to Near, his mouth set in a serious frown. "Fine. I'll do it."

Near did not look precisely _happy_ about Matt's decision at all.

**To be continued…**

**A/N: **Hmm, not convinced this is necessary, but I figure I can toss it out there anyway.** The Bridge to Nowhere **is a factual bridge some five miles in past** East Fork Road. **Its one heck of hike to get there, as its easy to get lost, is rather dangerous and wrought with slippery cliffs, rattlesnakes, cougars, and scorpions (ew), but! It is totally worth it. I've done the hike a half dozen times myself, and have even got myself lost out there at night with no moon, no flashlight and no compass. Nothing but the sandals on my feet (yes, yes, I KNOW…I can be an idiot sometimes) a couple of bottles of water and a pack of smokes. Took me some nine hours to find my way back to my car and ended up taking a chunk out of my ankle on an impromptu tumble from a rock face I'm _still_ not sure I was ever supposed to climb—some protruding root saved my life, which I caught and hung from in the knick of time. _Anyway_.The roads used during the war did in fact wash out in** 1939**, leaving only the bridge and a few other markers.** Bungee America, Inc. **hikes out to the bridge on Saturdays and Sundays with paying customers and sets up shop. They're fantastic, hardy people who do a great job and the jump is always great, great fun. If you'd like more info, you can go to** bungeeamerica[dot]com **and, if so interested, purchase a few jumps for yourself. Great, great fun.

Hm. Oh! And also, the whole bit about the dancing slave stars and the super massive black whole is all factual, neato stuff about our galaxy. I learned about it on a fascinating episode of **The Universe** on the Discovery Channel about a month ago. Thought it was the best _ever_ analogy. It is up to you to decide whom the two dancing slave stars are supposed to represent—and who the super massive black hole is.

**Shuu**: Really?! Oh, wow. Now I feel kind of bad for taking so long to update! Thank you for your review! I appreciate the lovely compliments.

Ah! I'm so happy you caught the "Glass Menagerie" montage! When I read that part of your review I got really excited. I'm thrilled it made sense to you, and that the central ideas of the play are threaded throughout this fic. It has been a huge inspiration, in its own way. Matt's handling of the situation with Near scares him, because he has conflicting motivations. He wants him, but he loves Mello, but alas! Mello is dead, and so that is sort of moot point in the logical center of Matt's brain, but then he also has a responsibility as W, and that entails enabling L, not changing him or becoming his lover or putting him in any dangerous situations whatsoever, but then of course Matt doesn't really know if wants the job anyway, so why not have a little fun? Matt's madness is reaching a breaking point; and it will be interesting to see what happens when it does. And as for the deal with Mello—it might just take effect when it is most needed, or it could be what pushes Matt over the edge.

Thanks again for your thoughtful review, and I hope you enjoyed the update!

**Cu-kid**!: We've got a yin/yang operation going here. I inspire you and you inspire me and I inspire you and you inspire me and on and on it goes. I'm using your art as my desktop at the moment, so I can look at it while I type. It has been _most_ helpful.

Oh, gosh, it DOES feel like pulling teeth, even for me. There are days when I just sit here and stare at a half-written scene that's turning spectacularly angry and resentful and wondered how the hell that happened when I was aiming for sweet and endearing! They turn me in circles, these two. Ah, and no, you weren't reading too much into it. Matt is totally into the color of Near's eyes. I'd actually had a whole thing of dialogue planned out for that scene to really draw out that conclusion, but ended up cutting it for the sake of flow. Glad you caught it anyway.

Mello's appearances have always been really fun to write, and I'm constantly dreaming up new backdrops to set him in. I think a fun part of Mello's scenes is how he reacts to, and plays off of, certain backgrounds…and how Mello becomes just a little more human, a little more beaten and haggard, and a little less all-knowing, when he appears in real time and space. But when Mello can pick the scenario, he seems more at ease with himself, and a little more in control of the situation. When he is forced to appear in the physical realm, like in Abu Ghraib, and when he's surprised, it wears on him…and then we see a more vulnerable part of him. And so even Mello, who is dead and the composer of Near and Matt's journey, comes across as a main character in his own right.

Anyhoot, thanks again for the great review! And I hope you enjoyed the update!

**Inuyashalove04**: Hey you! Thanks for your review. It's always fun to type out your penname. Lol, I think that's why I couldn't help writing those bits with Near and his difficulty with the term 'dry humping'. I kept trying to figure out how he would react if he knew that was what it was called, and all that came up in my mind's eyes was incredulity and utter shock. And it was damn funny in my head. Couldn't help myself. Thanks again for your review, and I hope you enjoyed the update!


	15. Chapter 15

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Released  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: Some bits about Halle and Mello before the kidnap of Takada in the last arch of the series. A recreation of the last scene we see of Matt and Mello from the series before the big showdown with Takada.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi readers! I hope everyone is well. I'll apologize in advance for posting the un-beta'ed version of this chapter. I find myself amidst yet another nasty breakup with James, and I wanted to post this ASAP in case I didn't get another chance to for a few weeks.

Big thanks to **Cu-kid** for more fanart! Go check out her page on deviantart and let her know how exceptional she is! This chapter was inspired by equal parts Hum Hallelujah by Fall Out Boy (for the jumping scene) and Come with Me by Puff Daddy ft. Jimmy Page. Currently listening to The Worst Day Since Yesterday by Flogging Molly—suits my mood. I don't usually ask for reviews—as I sort of think its bad form—but I'm feeling extraordinarily crappy and they would definitely perk me up. So, you know, if you liked the update, please let me know.

Oh, and if you spot errors, let me know about those too, and I'll fix them.

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Fifteen

**Released**

"_As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,_

_As the mind deserts the body it has used,_

_I should find_

_Some way incomparably light and deft,_

_Some way we should both understand,_

_Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand."_

**~From La Figlia che Piange by T.S. Eliot**

_Matt twisted the small tool in his hand, fixing the screw deeper into the device as he listened. It wasn't often he had to make his own gun, but that didn't stop from him knowing how. It gave him something to do with his hands as Mello talked quietly, fiddling with the foil wrapper of his chocolate bar. Mello recounted his conversation with Halle, Near's agent posing as Takada's bodyguard, his eyes averted, his booted feet flat on the ground as he sat in the creaky chair across the coffee table from Matt. _

_Matt lifted his head, previously bowed over his project, when Mello said somewhat about the bodyguard inviting him into the shower with her. Mello's eyes flickered, meeting his gaze in a moment of half-hearted bemusement, a flash of brilliant green in the shadows his jagged yellow bangs made in his scarred face. This was the point where Matt would say something crude and Mello would snicker and respond with something equally obscene. It was a decent attempt at normalcy, for Mello's part. But the stakes were way too high for mindless banter. _

_Matt said instead: "We need to separate Takada from her Death Note. Force the other one to use his." _

_Mello lowered his eyes again. He lifted his chocolate bar with the intention to take a bite, but the candy paused halfway to his mouth. A great heaviness settled over Mello's expression, his bare shoulders hunching forward under the pressure of his thoughts. His hand dropped and he placed the chocolate onto the coffee table beside Matt's nearly completed pistol, another vice abandoned amidst the turmoil. _

_"We'll do it tomorrow," Mello murmured, his words barely a stirring of the air around his mouth. _

_They'd discussed it already, the operation to abduct the news anchor, Kira's lover. Matt's insistence on warning Near of the second Death Note had angered Mello at first, causing another violent rift between them. However, even when Matt's obvious commitment to Near's safety, and the conviction with which he argued the case, sparked wave after wave of bitter insolence in Mello, he understood the necessity of it, knew the logic, was aware of the desperate circumstances. Neither he nor Near could bring down Kira on their own. Matt had forced him to realize this, or so he thought when Mello finally agreed. _

_Mello's temperament had changed after that, becoming dangerously quiet and introverted. He was hurting; Matt knew that because he knew Mello better than anyone. Knew his mood swings, the reasons for his anger, his hate, his dark humor. He knew that Mello hated his scars, even though Matt found them beautiful. And even if they weren't classifiable as beautiful, they were still certainly honest. He knew Mello's silence was more than pain over a silly lover's quarrel. Mello was quiet because he had given up. He was never going to be L, and maybe never have another decent chance to prove that he should have been. It was over. Tomorrow, it would be over. _

_Mello stood after some time, gazing out of the window beside the table. The weak light form the street lamp filtered in, dancing through the dust motes in the air and illuminating him around the edges. Matt stared at him for a long time, the powerful, deceptively slight muscles coiled around his bare arms, crossed now over his slight chest, the long legs, the black leather that was always more shiny on Mello than on anyone else, the curve of his back, the jagged fall of blond hair, and the deep brown-red of his scars, stretching and morphing his skin where the burns were the worst. Beautiful creature. Spilled milk on black marble. Honest. _

_Matt went back to his project. After a few minutes, he pushed in the clip and loaded the safety, switching it off and on and back again until he was certain it wouldn't snag. Then he placed it back on the table. Mello still stood by the window, gazing out, but not seeing anything but the thoughts in his own head. _

_Matt picked the weapon back up and disassembled it. _

_Mello's voice floated over to him at long last. "You ever think about forever?"_

_Matt abandoned his project and sat back on the dirty sofa, resting the back of his head against the edge. "No. I think about now. Sometimes I think about tomorrow, sometimes next week—but not forever, no. Why?"_

_Mello turned to regard him, the shadows on his face doing nothing to hide his scars. "Promise me you'll be safe tomorrow."_

_Matt looked up at him, wondering for a moment if he knew, but when Mello reached down and tenderly traced the line of his cheek, he knew he didn't. Matt shook his head. "I won't promise that."_

_"Please."_

_Matt closed his eyes, feeling Mello's fingers curl under the elastic of his goggles and pull them off his face. There was a clatter when Mello tossed the goggles to the side, but then nothing but silence as Mello waited. Mello never said please. "Only if you promise," Matt said, opening his eyes to regard the unfathomable expression on Mello's face. _

_Then Mello's expression darkened, his green eyes flashing in the shadows, his mood switching rapidly to anger. His fingers curled in Matt's hair, tightening into a fist and tugging painfully. Matt winced but didn't say anything, watching the gathering storm clouds on Mello's face. _

_"Coward," Mello hissed, abruptly releasing Matt's hair and walking toward the back room where the mattress was. _

_"You'll need to search her," Matt called after him. "I know her type; she'll hide something on her. Tracking device, wire… If it's a piece of the Death Note, she'll kill you with it."_

_"Shut the fuck up," Mello shot over his shoulder, undoing the clasps of his vest and tossing it to the floor. _

_"Take this seriously," Matt warned, rising finally to his feet and watching as Mello jammed both hands into his hair and raked his fingers through. "Don't be reckless."_

_His back still turned, Mello muttered: "Don't kid yourself; we both know I'm the one kidnapping her only because you don't have the stomach for it."_

_Matt felt cold all over and anger began coiling in his chest as he rose to the bait. "Thanks for bringing that up, Mello," Matt snapped. "Now that we're on the subject, do you think Takada won't be as effective because she's not a little girl? It worked so well for you last time--since you're the expert on kidnapping, I'd like to know your thoughts on the matter."_

_Mello turned, rage glittering in his cat-shaped eyes. "Fuck you," he grated, kicking off his boots. "You've got no backbone, Runner. Don't preach to me."_

_Runner. The nickname for an orphan who tried to escape from Wammy's. Between the two of them, the term was like a slur, a vicious kick in the teeth. Matt's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Nice, Mello. Thanks a lot. Maybe I should have just turned my back on everything L stood for and become a criminal like you."_

_Criminal. In Wammy's, a criminal was always worse than a runner. Matt watched Mello grind his teeth, the muscle twitch in the side of his jaw. Mello couldn't argue that, but when Mello turned his back on him again, Matt felt no satisfaction in shutting him up. It was an ancient argument between them. Mello had his reasons for what he'd become, however warped they may be. And Matt had reasons of his own for hiding at the Starks, away from Wammy's and his sudden responsibilities there. _

_Mello's reasons centered around L. So did Matt's, for that matter, but for an entirely different purpose. _

_Well and so, Matt had come to Japan. He'd offered a truce. He would not be Mello's W, no matter how often Mello demanded it of him, but he could stand with Mello this once. It did not breach his responsibility as W because it would ultimately save the current L's life. It would also give Mello one last chance to work side by side with Matt, a dream they'd harbored since they were barely more than toddlers. The two of them in some filthy safe house, planning on how to take down the bad guy and save the world. Mello's redemption—Matt could help this once, and then he would go. _

_Matt was too dangerous a weapon to be used by Mello. It broke his heart, deciding that, standing by it, refusing to budge even when the furious man he loved crumbled because of it, even when the hurt rose up in those brilliant green eyes when Mello couldn't smother it anymore. _

_Matt crossed the room and entered the bedroom, coming to stand directly behind his best friend, his lover, his sole confidant. He wrapped one arm around Mello's naked waist and rested his chin on the man's shoulder. Mello leaned back into him, expelling his anger in a long sigh. _

_"If you could stop being W for one minute," Mello whispered, "you'd see we could run together. We could leave everything. If Takada has the Death Note on her, we could take it and make money off it. We'd sell it to Near; he has plenty of money now, the little freak. We could sell it to him, no harm, no foul. No more Kira, the Death Notes are in the right hands, and you and me…We could disappear, we don't owe anybody anything. We could just-just _go_. Come with me." _

_Matt pressed his brow into the warm flesh of Mello's shoulder, hating the vulnerable undercurrent of his words, knowing in his gut that even if Mello meant it now, he wouldn't later, knowing that it was probably a lie. "You wouldn't sell it to Near, Mello. You'd force him out of Wammy's to get it from you. Then you would take Wammy's for yourself and declare yourself L. I know you would. You'd probably never even give the thing to Near. Mello, I wouldn't put it past you to actually use it on him."_

_Mello turned in his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes bright. "Hmmm. You really think I'd kill Near if it meant being L?"_

_"I do," Matt said, not fooled by the play at innocence. "I really do. And you'd be an idiot to think I wouldn't kill you before you had a chance to."_

_Mello's eyes widened a fraction, and then he smiled. "It'd be interesting to see you try." He looked thoughtful again, a slight tilt of his face. Matt had to look up to see his expression. It annoyed Matt that he'd become so much taller than him. "You're probably right about Near, but you wouldn't be able to kill me."_

_"You don't think so?" Matt tried to smile, but couldn't. He wasn't sure of the answer himself, suddenly, looking at that face, that wicked smile, the bright eyes that flashed with equal parts madness and passionate righteousness. No innocent façade, now. _

_Mello shook his head. "No. I don't think so," he said, and kissed Matt hard on the mouth. _

_They made love like war that night. Viciously, like it was a battle to see who could be crueler. Violence had always been a mutually accepted part of their relationship. They loved and hated each other—Mello hated Matt for his betrayal, his conviction to keep his word to an old man long dead. He loved him because Matt was the only person he _could_ love. It was impossible not to. Matt hated the man Mello had become, the criminal, the madman that made it impossible for them to be together. He loved him because he always had. It was sometimes the only thing he knew for certain: He loved Mello. _

_And no, Matt decided, as the night stretched on and the bruises began to form, as the passion between them peaked and screamed for release, as the blood ran freely, as slick as the sweat on their bodies—no, Matt would never be able to pull the trigger. He could never end Mello, because Mello was Mello, and Mello was forever. _

_Death Gods whispered in the deepening shadows, grim and ghostly, starving for two more lives, desperate for two more hearts to stop. It could never be planned, what would happen the following night. Not even ghouls with notebooks designed to kill could properly foresee it. It was evident, glaringly obvious that it would be over, surely. The strongest minds in the world had decided it, the gods had spoken, and tomorrow was the beginning of the end. One would die, the other would not. L might win, if he was cleverer than the last. Kira would fall, eventually—because even gods fall from grace. They always have. _

_Come with me, Mello had pleaded, demanded, whispered, hissed. _

_No, Matt had responded. Tomorrow, God help him, he would die; and this agony would be over. _

_"I love you," Matt whispered. _

_"I know," Mello whispered back, and looked away._

_Come with me. _

_No._

_Not even Death Gods could have foreseen it. _

~*~

July 24th, 2013

"Are there any back injuries I should know about?"

There was a snort of amusement somewhere to the left of him, but when Near's head snapped around to glare at its source, there was no one there. A chill ran down his spine, gooseflesh prickling on his arms beneath the thin shirt he wore.

"Nathan."

A slight breeze kicked up, noticeable now in the waning afternoon, and it moved through Near's shirt like a whisper, tantalizingly pleasant, calming, a cruel joke at his expense. Near was not fooled. Wherever Mello was, he was laughing at him.

"Nathan."

The sunlight slanted at him, warm on his back and shoulders. Near was glad of the sunglasses, as he peered behind him, towards the light, the expanse of the canyon they had hiked to get here. His head ached, pounded behind his protected eyes as his brain swelled against his cranium, a result of exposure and anxiety and labor. If his head hurt already, protected from the sun as one could get without actually remaining indoors, it would be terrible to take them off. The exposure of his retinas to the ultra-violet rays would be most painful, Near thought, decided, predicted.

"Nathan!"

Near turned again in one quick, agitated movement, facing forward. "_What?_"

Bill stood beside Matt as if they were amidst a private conversation. Near frowned at their close proximities, annoyed again by how well Matt seemed to get on with perfect strangers. Natural, for Matt, to be amiable, likable. Near was in no mood to want to be similar, irritated with Matt as he was—but it still made him frown. Uneasy, even. Near did not like the bemused quirk of Bill's golden-blond brow, in his ridiculously attractive tan, equally gruff face.

The instructor seemed used to nasty attitudes from clients. He probably had to deal with overly anxious, nervous jumpers on a daily basis. Surely, not everyone handles fear with grace and good humor like Matt. Surely, one or two of them can turn mean and unsociable like Near. Surely, Near was not the only client Golden-Bill, with his three stupid, slobbering dogs, and his forgotten, obviously _abandoned_ bridge—surely Near was not the only one who wished nothing more than to be left well enough alone while he worked up the nerve to…

Bill was speaking again. Near made an impatient, slicing motion with his hand, sufficiently quieting him. Matt made a show of sighing before walking over. The hacker took Near by the arm and pulled them to the side.

"He's asking about back injuries," Matt said quietly, a strange look on his face. His eyes were averted, a flat, grey-blue color. Gone was the impish grin he was wearing when he conversed with the instructor. Now, Matt was frowning. Worriedly, maybe. Concern…? Ah.

"My shoulder is fine," Near said flatly, resisting Matt's grip on his arm. When Matt let go, Near wished he hadn't pulled away. Matt's face seemed to go distant, immobile as those hollow eyes stared off into something Near couldn't see.

Near understood now. The grin had been a farce. Matt looked pale, now that he did not have to seem brave. Matt probably thought that at least one of them had to keep up the pretense. Near knew it was not the actual jump that bothered Matt. After all, the hacker had jumped from a moving helicopter only a few weeks ago during the attack on Abu Ghraib. The ashes frightened him. There was a small, indefinable part of Near that pitied Matt for it, wished he could take back their agreement and do the jump alone. The spitefulness of the initial stalemate had receded, even if Near was still clearly upset by the predicament he now found himself in. However, he could not help feel it was important for Matt to have some sort of closure here. Near glanced up and saw Bill watching them carefully.

Despite his agitation, Near could see the intelligence behind Bill's clear, brown eyes. If he did not think they could handle it, Bill might not even _let_ them jump. Near had not considered that. Near contemplated, briefly, if he should throw a fit. Near wouldn't, of course, not only because he didn't have the energy to, but also because his pride would not stand for it.

Near had not expected Matt to agree with him.

Matt was not looking at him, still. "Are you all right?" Near asked him softly, his tone milestones gentler than it had been a moment ago.

Matt's eyes slanted towards him and looked away again just as swiftly. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "I'm concerned about your shoulder. I should have anticipated that."

Near had the sudden thought that they were both trying to ascertain ways out of their new predicament. Which meant…

Near thought of L. He thought L would probably jump. Why wouldn't he? He played tennis, after all. And why had he done that? …Because, why _wouldn't_ he? It made sense, somewhat, for all Near knew about how L's mind worked.

It did not matter, anyway. Near was L, now. In addition, that did not mean he had to be like Lawliet in any other way. He had already proven himself worth the seat he inherited. Hadn't he?

Near was thinking himself into circles again. Jumping was not about being L, Near didn't think. Mello wanted him to jump. Why? Maybe if he could understand this, maybe it would make stepping over the ledge and onto that little platform easier. If there was some _sense_ behind all of this, maybe he could do it without making a fool of himself, without torturing Matt in the process.

Two hours had flittered by since they arrived at the Bridge to Nowhere. The crowd had thinned considerably. There were about a dozen jumpers left, most of them lingering simply out of curiosity for the latest arrivals. Near and Matt had shared a quiet lunch, crouched on the pavement, their backs against the thick, stone rail, as far from the crowd of jumpers and instructors as they could manage. Matt wandered off often, mumbling this and that about a small cave he found, or a trail he discovered back down to the river. When Near had asked if he should go too, Matt shook his head and muttered it was too dangerous. Near sensed the hacker wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, and, appreciating the concept, gave him his space. His own solitude might have been pleasant, if it were not for the three golden retrievers shadowing his every step and grinning at him expectantly. Even the attempt at conversation from a handful of jumpers was bearable next to the perturbing attention of Bill's three dogs. At least he could frown and glare away the jumpers; dogs, however, seemed unconcerned with Near's painfully _obvious_ wish for privacy.

Matt was looking at him again, waiting for his answer. Near returned his gaze evenly, doing his best not to seem short with him. "Even if it dislocates again, you can always jerk it back like the last time, can't you?"

Matt blanched, whatever color had still been in his face draining at the comment. "I'd rather not," Matt whispered. "I know how much that hurts."

Near grasped Matt's shoulder and led him even further away from Bill, until they were pressed against the opposite rail. "_Why_ would Mello want me to jump? You knew him better than anyone did. Does it _mean_ something?"

Matt's eyes went distant again and he did not answer for a long time. "Of course it means something. But meaning is subjective, Near, it changes for each person. Only _you_ can properly understand why Mello would want _you_ to jump."

That was an un-answer disguised as an answer. Near's frown became deeper, so ingrained he could actually feel it pulling at the muscles of his face. Matt's statements could be ambiguous, from time to time, but never so blatantly useless. Near touched his face, worried suddenly at the clammy, cool feeling of the man's usually warm cheek.

"Can you handle this?" Near asked.

Matt shot him a surprisingly potent glare, and Near actually dropped his hand and stepped back. It was not often Matt intimidated him like this, but Matt was dangerous and unstable enough that Near knew when to back off. "Don't insult me," Matt said in a low voice. "Not over this. I said I'd do it. So I'll do it."

"I never said you wouldn't," Near found himself protesting.

"You insinuated—"

"I did not."

"Fucking knock it off, Near," Matt growled suddenly, his mouth a thin line in his unnaturally pale face. "This is supposed to be about you, but you made it about me. I don't fucking know Mello's punch line, Goddamn it, _I'm_ supposed to be dead. I'm trying to be the steady one here, but when you keep _pestering_ me, it makes me want to take off. Do you get that, Near? I want to run so badly right now, my legs are twitching. So shut up and be grateful. We fucking agreed to do this thing, so let's fucking do it." Matt took in a deep lungful of air and let it out in a rush. He turned away, visibly shaking. Then, barely a split second later, he was back, slinging one arm around Near's shoulders and pulling him close. "I'm sorry," Matt said into Near's hair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have freaked out on you. This isn't your fault. I'm sorry."

Near shrugged as Matt lowered his arms, his hands lingering around the detective's waist. "I understand," Near said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bill staring at them again. Near fought the strange urge to sneer at the man. "But you're right," Near said to Matt. "The sooner we do it, I think, the better. The longer we wait, the more anxious we'll be."

"Okay." Matt pulled away and took Near's hand, leading them back to the tarp of harnesses where Bill waited patiently for them. Bill's three dogs followed Near to the edge of the tarp and sat in a semi-circle, tails wagging eagerly as they watched. A girl wandered over and crouched beside one of the retrievers. Near watched her, behind his sunglasses, coo and pet the dog while the animal ignored her and stared at him, grinning cheerily, tongue lolling.

An odd thing occurred to Near then. Matt said this was supposed to be about him, and Near's first thought was that he was wrong—that this was really about Mello. Matt had told him in Berlin that Mello wanted nothing more than to be buried next to L. However, Mello revised his will when he assumed Matt was dead…for Near. Customized, for _Near_.

Five locations that meant something to Mello. Five places that inevitably meant something to Near as well. Mostly, however, chance dictated the lessons Near learned along the way, sights he'd seen, feelings he'd felt. Mello was mortal and alive when he wrote his will, so there had to be some perfectly mundane reason behind it, some particular design that Mello, the man, had in mind when he created it. L's grave, Skull Rock, Panama Canal, Bridge to Nowhere, St. Josef of Mimmingen…

The only thing these locations seemed to have in common, aside from that they meant something to Mello personally, was that they stretched over the globe in separate, almost even spaces. Japan, Israel—no, Jerusalem, because who owned that particular bit of land was still a subject warred over—Panama, Western United States, Bavaria…

Near accepted the aid of another instructor in stepping into his seat harness and pulling it up. Matt was there, then, to help buckle him into it and shrug into the harness that went over his shoulders. As Matt slipped into his own set of harnesses, Near distractedly located his backpack and retrieved Mello's urn, the golden trim flashing brilliantly in the sunlight, the red tints of the mahogany wood shining like blood.

Another thing these places had in common, Near thought suddenly as he ran a hand over the smooth surface of the urn, was war. Every single location had suffered war and political unrest since…well, since the written word, really. Was Mello's intention for Near to see these places, to become acquainted with them, to _care_ about them? It would be easy to waver in favor of whatever politicks controlled the situation, easy to ignore the other side of the story, empathize with the population closest to the heart of disaster, the people that lived it everyday and still found time to care about others. Like Yisheth, Akhish, the Kuna girl from the marketplace. Hm, but then the bridge? L's grave was simple, in this light, because his predecessor took his job very seriously. He did not bow under the pressure of political influence, but remained always a steady rock of justice and law. The bridge was more difficult to understand. While it had the same undercurrent, the same history of war…this whole jumping business screamed of _personal_.

_This has personal written all over it_, Rester had said.

Indeed. What was the lesson here? Confronting fear? Near found himself snorting unattractively as he turned and walked back to the tarp. Matt was gazing in his direction with a sickly expression, but not at him. Matt's eyes were fixed on the urn he carried, his eyes bright and feverish. Bill leaned over to say something to him. Matt forced a smile, disguising the panic that had broken the surface of his calm only moments before.

An instructor directed Near to set the urn down between the two platforms so he could fasten the bungee chord to his harness. Near watched in morbid curiosity, taking a tiny smidgen of comfort in the familiarity in which the instructor handled the clasps and buckles. "Has the chord ever broken?" Near asked the man, before knowing he had even opened his mouth to speak.

The instructor glanced up at him, an amused smile hovering at the edges of his otherwise professionally indifferent expression. "Ah, no. We've never had a chord break. Some of them fray after use, but we don't utilize them anymore after the first signs of wear."

"You've never had a chord break?" Near repeated, annoyed with the element of disbelief in his own voice.

"Break, snap, come apart," the man said, smiling with teeth now. "No, never. And I've been doing this with Bill for some twenty years now. You're in safe hands. I'll need to take your hat and glasses. Can't wear them on the jump."

Reluctantly, Near handed the man his hat after he'd checked the harnesses a third time. When Near took off his glasses the light blinded him painfully, searing into his eyes and burning his sight away completely. Near had to blink several times just to be able to squint. His eyes watered profusely, which only served to blind him further.

The man asked him which jump he wanted to do. Near paused, but only he and Matt would know he did it sarcastically. "Front, I suppose."

"Okay, cool," the man said. "Whenever you're ready."

Near bit his lip, the knowledge settling inside of him that he was really about to crawl over the side of a bridge and launch himself into a gorge. He looked sideways at Matt. He and Bill were waiting for his cue. It had, apparently, taken some convincing to allow them to jump simultaneously. Bill and his partner usually allowed only one jumper at a time, except for special occasions. It took only one look at the urn, however, for Bill to relent. Obviously, he had seen this before too.

Matt's face was white as a sheet as he mimicked Near and moved towards the urn. Near opened the lid and reached inside, procuring a handful of ashes. Matt hesitated for what seemed like an eternity. He worked up the nerve eventually, however, and jammed his hand inside without warning. Matt looked like he was going to be ill as he withdrew his hand, gaping at the ashes trickling from his closed fist, his mouth twisted in a grimace. It was costing Matt a lot more, Near decided, than him to do this. It was the cruelest thing Near had done to Matt to date.

Matt raised his haunted, wracked gaze up to Near's, his expression tortured and pale. A sense of urgency moved through Near then, afraid that Matt would lose his courage as swiftly as it came to him—and he _would_ actually run. Near did not put it past him. It was monumental, what Near had asked of him.

Near scrambled over the edge, using one hand to hold him in place as he set two feet on the little red, metal platform on the other side. As he turned to face the gorge, his heart beating wildly in his chest, he saw Matt move over the ledge in his peripheral. Matt kept his back to the gorge, his eyes glaring at the fistful of ashes, his head bowed. Bill was speaking to him in a low, calming voice. His own facilitator was doing something similar, but Near couldn't hear his words over the rush of blood in his ears.

A hand on his shoulder. "Do you see that red flag, across the canyon?"

Near nodded weakly, squinting against the searing sunlight, ignoring the panicked agony of his newly fueled headache.

"You'll want to aim for that."

"Why?"

"So you don't jump wrong and hit the underside of the bridge."

Near went rigid. "_What_?!"

Whatever the man said next was drowned out by the roaring of Near's thoughts. In his mind, he saw the math, the geometry, the thousand and seventeen ways he could jump badly and actually _hit the bridge_.

Behind him, a strangely distant sound of chanting began. "Three!" the now sparse crowd cheered as they held onto the instructor's harness.

Near's heart was in his throat as he whipped his head around, his eyes seeking Matt's. As if feeling Near's panicked gaze, Matt lifted his eyes and stared back, a disturbing darkness moving behind the cornflower blue. His expression was calm, quiet even, in the few meters that separated them. The ashes trickled through their fingers, a silent timetable of their own.

"Two!"

Near went over the logistics of the bungee chord in his frantic mind, wildly searching for any flaw in the design of the harnesses, if he'd noticed any odd marks on the buckles. Logic, his mind screamed at him. Logic! However, logic has absolutely nothing to do with jumping off a bridge. Absolutely nothing.

Matt turned his eyes back to Bill, his calm expression crumpling as he saw Bill slowly curl his fingers, waving a cheery goodbye. Near wildly sought out the red flag, determined not kill himself by jumping incorrectly.

"One!"

Near's throat was bone dry, his entire body tingled, his heart tried to crawl up his throat and out of his mouth. Adrenaline, Near thought absently, secreting adrenal glands…

His knees bunched, his muscles uncoiled like a spring, and the red flag became abruptly closer as Near swung his arms over his head like he was swan diving. He felt, ever so briefly, his body arch in mid-air, the odd sensation of nothing pressing against the soles of his feet, and then gravity, a cruel mistress, took her due.

A scream tore through his throat as his stomach seemed to drop through his feet. In his peripheral, he saw Matt launching himself backwards, a clean somersault through thin air. Near choked on his scream, then, as the boulders below rushed up to meet him, the absurdly thin stream of river water weaving between the jagged rocks, and then his entire body jarred against the impact of his harnesses gripping him violently. The bungee chord caught him, and, with an undignified bounce, swept him into the air again. His body twisted sideways, until he was belly up, and he saw not rocks closing into to smash his limbs to powder, but the underside of the bridge. He sucked in a lungful of air, determined to scream accordingly this time, but a sharp whoop of ecstasy distracted him. It wasn't until he was plummeting backwards again that he realized it was Matt, laughing like a madman.

The bungee chord caught him a second time, jolting him upwards, his limbs flailing like a rag doll's. He had enough sense in him to ball his hands into fists, despite the overwhelming urge to grab a hold of the cushioned chord buckled to his two harnesses, connected just over his bellybutton. Matt's laughter continued to distract him, as he willed his limbs outstretched and out of the way as he swung, clearing all the way to the other side of the bridge and back again. He turned his head, his heart racing as he sought out his lunatic companion. Matt swung from his bungee chord similarly, his entire body limp, his head thrown back as he barked his laughter to the sky above them.

Near felt like he was at the amused end of a nervous breakdown himself, watching Matt swing through the gorge, listening to the sounds of his rapture echo off the canyon walls. Hilarity consumed Near, a grin splitting his face in two. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, air whooshing through his clothes and hair, a calm, wondrous sensation sweeping through him. If he had to name the feeling consuming his entire body, making his racing heart swell in his chest as if it was going to burst, he would call it freedom.

Distantly, Near registered the lowering belay chord. He reached out for it and grasped the end, buckling it to his harness as he had been instructed to do, wincing at the sudden burn spreading through his shoulder and back. Slowly, the belay chord pulled him up, until he could reach the red platform and haul himself the rest of the way. His legs felt like jelly as he placed his feet back onto the bridge, so it was good that his instructor was there to catch him when he teetered sideways. He was unfastened from both chords before left to stumble away from the tarp, the three retrievers tagging along as he went. He was spun around abruptly and the sound of laughter became a sensation too, soft rushes of breath against his cheeks. Matt.

There was a staggering brightness about his face and Near found it harder to look at than the searing light of the sun. Near was kissing him back before his mind caught up with his body. He did it, they both did, and the exhilaration swept them both up in a frenzy. Maybe that was what Mello had wanted Near to know…maybe freedom comes in a separate package from logic. The two may need to be separated from time to time, to fully appreciate it as a whole.

~*~

The first mile on the return hike was pleasant and relatively eventless. Matt felt like the child he used to be, carefree and excited, pausing to inspect this plant, or show Near that rock with the strange coloring. Near humored him, which surprised Matt, commenting appropriately, and even sliding in a quiet joke or two, subsequently causing Matt to erupt in delighted, unguarded laughter. Near had once told him he did not have a sense of humor; Matt was beginning to disagree.

Even with the hat low over his face, and the large black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, Matt could see the amused smile hovering at the corner of Near's lips. Near had handled the jump well, as far as Matt could tell, and the experience seemed to have been a good one for the detective, who was in a decidedly better mood as they found their way back to the river and followed the trail into the thick of the woods. For his part, Matt was giddy, restless, and happy for it too. It felt like something had eased in him, wedged enough space between him and his pain, his grief and guilt over Mello, to allow him to feel…like he had a heart again. Hell, Matt felt _human_ again. And that was wonderful. Matt had taken off his gloves so he could run his fingers over the foliage they passed, feel the dirt crumbling off the rock face, become moist with the spray of the rushing river.

As they approached the first crossing, tell-tale now with the thin bridge of driftwood and branches, Matt noticed Near adjusting the straps of backpack. Near, used to the nature of these natural bridges now, headed to the edge first.

"Heavy?" Matt called behind him.

"Mm." Near shifted the pack again, so it could settle a certain way across his shoulders. "No."

Near stepped onto a plank of driftwood. It was wet and slippery, but the detective seemed to decide it was sturdy enough because he placed his weight on it without hesitation, fearless now after his jump. Matt paused at the edge, watching with a shrewd eye as Near made it to about halfway across before stepping onto the driftwood himself. There was a shift, and then a splash, and Near paused, gazing at the piece of rotten wood that separated a foot from him and was swept into the river. After a moment, he started forward again, but stopped when the natural bridge groaned under his weight.

"Matt," Near said over his shoulder. "Is there another crossing nearby? I do not think this one will hold."

"I don't want to get us lost again," Matt said, shaking his head even though the man couldn't see it. "We're losing daylight—and I really don't think we should be out here after dark."

"Agreed," Near said, and then sighed heavily.

Before Near could take another step, however, Matt, feeling exuberant and happily reckless, jumped into the river. The thunderous splash startled Near, causing him to teeter momentarily from his precarious position on the slippery driftwood. It was very cold, the water, and the algae-covered, mossy rocks underneath the surface were even more slippery than the driftwood bridge. Matt shivered a little, laughing through his chattering teeth as he made his way forward, the rushing water pushing at his hips. He reached up for Near's hand, intending to walk him the rest of the way across. Near gaped at him stupidly.

"You cheerful idiot," Near blurted. "You'll get hypothermic! Get out of the river at once!"

"Cheerful idiot?" Matt echoed, grinning as he grasped Near's hand and waded beside him. "Gee, Near, thanks. Didn't know you cared."

"Don't be insufferable," Near retorted, trying to pry his hand away. "I can cross on my own, I'm not a child. Get out of the water!"

Matt felt a surge of devilish mirth, his grin turning impish. "Suit yourself," he said, releasing Near's hand.

Thrown off balance again, Near's arms waved about. His foot came up, trying to even his body against the weight of his backpack, and Near's eyes bulged as he realized he was swaying backwards to the point of no return. The sight switched from mildly amusing to comically hysterical as Near fell into the river, his limbs flailing like a banked crab as he struggled to right himself in the frigid, actually quite shallow river. Matt bent over, waist deep on his side of the river, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. With a vengeful shout, Near finally got his feet under him, flung his pack back to the riverbank they came from, and hurtled himself over the driftwood bridge.

Matt felt all the air leave his lungs when Near landed on him. His knees buckled, his boots slipped on the underwater boulders, and they both went down in an explosion of water. Matt twisted to avoid jarring his shoulder against a mossy rock, but for all his trouble, still managed to breath in a mouthful of river water and came up sputtering. As Matt coughed up the last bit of water, his goggled eyes found Near crouching in the water, shoulder deep, a few feet away, and watching him warily. Slowly, Matt let a smile spread across his face before he took a step forward. He saw Near's mouth open, a logical objection ready on the detective's lips, before the words died in his mouth. Near twisted away, already springing backwards through the water, trying to escape—but Matt snagged his wrist and pulled him back.

Laughing, Matt caught the other wrist and pulled both arms behind Near, bringing the man flush up against him even as the detective struggled for all he was worth.

"It was only fair," Near was saying, squirming as Matt locked both wrists into one hand, and used the other to fasten the man around his waist. "I only—"

"What is it you think I was going to do?" Matt asked with another throaty chuckle. He felt Near pause in his struggle, responding minutely to the husky delivery of his words. "Drown you?"

"Don't be absurd," Near answered haltingly as Matt ghosted his lips down the side of Near's throat. "I just…just…Hmm, that's very nice, actually."

The water continued to rush around them as Matt brought his mouth up to press a kiss against his ear, swirling his tongue around the lobe and sucking it in with his teeth. Near melted against him, his head falling back on Matt's shoulder, and shivered. Matt did not think the shiver had anything to do with the temperature of the water. Matt adjusted his grip on Near's wrists, stopping when the small movement of Near's arms produced a gasp. A sound that certainly did not sound like pleasure. Matt released him immediately. "Near?"

"No, no, I'm fine."

"Your shoulder—"

"I said I'm fine. A little discomfort, nothing more." Near offered a smile, turning in the water to face him.

Matt wasn't convinced. "I could…I could rub it out for you."

Near's smile was genuine this time. "That sounds lovely, really, but the water _is_ rather cold, and I think you had the right idea about getting us back to the car before nightfall. Later, perhaps."

Matt felt his grin return. "Ah, yes_. Later_."

Near colored a little, but had the grace to laugh. "Indeed, well…" He turned again and headed back to the bank to retrieve his backpack.

"You know what?" Matt called after him, pulling his own pack from the driftwood and slinging the straps over his shoulders. "Maybe I should carry your pack for you. We really shouldn't push your injury any further than we already…" The words died in his throat, terror lancing through his body in one powerful shockwave as he raised his eyes to Near's retreating figure. He had scrambled onto a boulder at the edge of the riverbank, attempting to reach the backpack that became lodged in a crevice above his head. Ten yards to the left of him, prowling behind a thicket of buckwheat, was mountain lion.

In a flash, Matt had his knife in his hand and was sprinting through the water as fast as his long legs could carry him. Distantly, he was happy he'd taken off his gloves as his grip on the handle of the knife would have been slippery with them on. The cougar paused, hair standing on end and hackles raised as Matt rushed forward. His splashing was too loud to tell if the massive cat was growling, but Matt didn't doubt it. He surged out of the water, grabbing Near's shoulder as he landed in a crouch on the boulder and thrusting the startled detective behind him in one violent motion.

The mountain lion paused and retracted a step when Matt exploded from the river. Near struggled to keep his balance, hissing angrily at Matt while the hacker glared across the riverbank, his hunting knife glinting between him and their predator. Near sucked in a breath and froze, finally spotting the cougar. "Matt!"

"Be quiet!" Matt hissed. "Stay behind me."

The cat's nose was short; hide a tawny, yellow shade, lighter on the underbelly and haunches. The beast had to be somewhere between one hundred and one hundred, fifty pounds. Matt watched the animal as carefully as the cougar watched him, and he decided she was female. Her golden eyes blazed at him angrily, lined with thick black stripes, smudging her nose, and darkening the points of her alert, elevated ears. She bared her teeth, hissing as she stepped forward again. From nose to tail, the animal was near six feet long, massive for a female, or any mountain lion in general.

"Stand up," Matt whispered, his fingers still digging painfully into Near's arm. "We need to make ourselves seem as large as possible."

Silently, Near obliged, clutching the pockets of Matt's backpack for balance as they rose, watching as the cougar continued to slink forward. "Should we get back in the river?" Near whispered.

Matt shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the animal now only eight yards away. "She can swim. Cougars are predatory."

"She'll follow us," Near finished for him, his words breathy against the back of Matt's neck. Near shifted behind him and went rigid again. "Matt," he said in a low voice. "She has kittens."

Matt's eyes flickered briefly, spotting them instantly now that he knew what to look for. Three of them, spotted and tiny, curled amongst each other and sleeping in a small crevice inside the rock face behind their mother. Great. Fucking great. A cougar protecting her young.

"Near," Matt whispered, his mouth barely moving. The cougar's ears flickered, catching the sound. "I want you to ease back into the water and swim to the other side. Stay as submerged as possible. I'll meet you at the next crossing."

"No."

"That wasn't negotiable," Matt hissed dangerously, gritting his teeth as the mountain lion took another silent step forward, her front legs coming into full view, muscular and powerful, designed to crush prey with their mere pressure.

"I won't leave you here. We can leave without hurting her. She won't follow us far with a litter unprotected."

Damn Near and his fucking logic. "The urn," Matt growled, jerking his chin towards the backpack trapped on the lionesses' side of the riverbank. Behind him, Near was silent. The kittens mewled behind her, the cougar drew back her lips, exposing powerful jowls complete with sharp teeth and long fangs, snarling for all she was worth. Her head moved forward, her shoulders dipping as her muscles bunched, preparing for the attack, the short sprint cougars were acclaimed for, her hackles standing on end.

Matt looked again at the trapped backpack, his newfound heart slamming rapidly against his ribs, burning with every acidic jump of his pulse. He felt a searing sensation wedge against the base of his throat and swallowed against it, hating the fact that he knew he was going to have to choose again. Mello or Near. Near or Mello. Protect L, or safeguard his soul. What a stupid reason to force his hand, what to stupid way to have his heart broken all over again. A great darkness erupted inside of him, spreading through his limbs to very tips of his finger and toes. The base of his spine tingled, answering the hate, the anger that boiled inside of him. He had already decided. He knew he did. As if he needed another reason to hate himself. As if he couldn't go one more day without screwing up. One easy task: Help Near spread Mello's ashes at five locations—and he couldn't even do _that_ for Mello. Failed again.

He bored his eyes into the cougar's blazing golden ones, a growl ripping through his throat and rushing passed his lips, bared too and stretching over his lips. The cougar seemed unafraid, but did pause at the sound. Matt took action, shoving Near back into the water and pushing him roughly until they had reached the other side, his hand gripping his knife and holding it up and across his face, the blade stoically remaining between Matt and the beast.

The mountain lion did not follow them, but allowed the pair to see her prowl the riverbank until they were out of sight. Matt forced the pace, gripping Near's wrist painfully as he rampaged through the trail with quick, angry strides and subsequently dragging him along.

_We could disappear, we don't owe anybody anything._

They took no breaks as the dusk deepened and the sky above the trees and boulders turned blood red and hellish orange. Near was silent behind him, unresisting despite the painful grip Matt had on his wrist. Their second crossing went swiftly. Matt slid into the water without breaking contact with his ward and swiftly marched them across the fallen tree trunk he'd spotted at the small stack of rocks. Twice, on a higher ledge of the trail, Near stumbled and fell, sweeping his legs dangerously out into thin air. However, with a grunt, Matt merely hauled him up again and continued on.

_Promise me you'll be safe tomorrow._

_I won't promise that._

Near's breathing was ragged behind him as they marched. Matt ignored it, hating himself more and more, but why stop? What the fucking hell was the point? Stupid fucking ashes. Pointless, idiotic endeavor. Matt was a tool. He knew it the day they gave him an actual name and not a code like Mello or Near. Matt knew it the day Watari and L sat him down and introduced him to the idea of W. He knew it the day L and Watari died, leaving Near as the successor and not Mello. He knew it the day he worked up the nerve to come back, and Near had to step between him and his bodyguards before the three of them shot each other to death. He knew it the day he woke up and realized he'd fallen for L. He was a tool, only useful when he was doing his fucking job—a job he couldn't even do properly, a job he wouldn't be able to do until after he served his sentence with Danny-boy. His job mattered, but anyone with two brain cells to rub together could do it. Matt was a tool, an out of date piece of weaponry for an L that didn't really need him. Fancy that.

_You've got no backbone, Runner. Don't preach to me._

_Nice, Mello. Thanks a lot. _

_Thanks a lot. _

The bridge made of rocks and wire was found easily enough, and Matt marched across it, Near stumbling behind him as they went. He released his hold on the detective once they found the dirt road leading up to East Fork. The Jag was a quarter-mile away. Near lagged behind as Matt marched along. Dusk was darker now, a deep purple against the mountaintops. Four miles northeast, a mountain lion stalked around the very last thing left of Mello. Matt pocketed his knife.

_Maybe I should have just turned my back on everything L stood for and become a criminal like you._

_A criminal like you._

His cigarettes were soggy from the river and Matt threw the pack against the side of the car as he trudged up beside it. He wasn't cold, even though by rights he should be. He wasn't afraid or anxious. Hate could be very calming. Heightened his senses, made them more acute. He was aware of the cold without really feeling it. He knew Near would be shivering once he caught up with him. Matt fished out the car keys, turned on the ignition, and switched on the heater. Near entered the car without a word, and even though Matt did not look at him as he shifted the clutch and pulled out onto the road, he knew Near was staring at him. Interesting how well one could know a person so intricately after so short a time.

_And you'd be an idiot to think I wouldn't kill you before you had a chance to._

_It'd be interesting to see you try._

Matt's fingers tightened on the wheel. He skidded through the turns, instead of around them. Once they were on the highway, he turned off the headlights and pushed the barometer to one-thirty, one-forty, one-fifty…

_If you could stop being W for one minute…_

_Stop being W for one minute…_

They arrived at the safe house in record time. Near was out of the car and stumbling to a nearby brush in a flash, bent over with his head between his knees and gasping for air. Oh, panicking _now_, are we? Near didn't want him to hurt the goddamned _mountain lion_ because she had _kittens_, but a little speed gets him worked up? Matt stormed past him and covered up the Jaguar with the tarp. Within minutes, they were inside the elevator and descending into the safe house. Matt brushed briskly by him and made his way into the kitchenette.

_Come with me._

_No._

_No, I can't do that._

_I'm too dangerous for you, Mello. _

_I can't do that. I don't have the stomach for it._

_This isn't about the Starks, you asshole. It's about you! You're too goddamn crazy, Mello. I can't be W for you. I can't do that. _

He grabbed a loaf of bread and tossed eight slices on the countertop. He opened the fridge and produced cheese and butter before slamming it closed again. He rummaged through the cabinet, shoving dishes around. He grabbed a pan and a spatula.

_I love you._

_I know. Come with me._

_No._

When was the last time Matt had heard Mello? When was the last time he'd felt the burn at the edge of the hole in his chest, the tingling chill at the tips of his fingers? When was the last time…When…

_Come with me._

_No._

When…Oh, God.

The spatula and pan hit the floor with an enormous clatter. No. No, no, no. No!

"NO!!!" Matt roared, sweeping his arm out and shoving the bread, cheese and butter off the countertop, clutching his other hand to the front of his shirt. "Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Oh, no, no, no…"

A strong hand on his shoulder, turning him around roughly, warm against his skin. Matt clutched wildly at his chest with both hands now, searching for the hole, terrified by the absence of it. His mind was blank and glaringly white, his eyelids stretching and round as they gaped, looking, but not seeing. No, no that was Near's hair. Arms around him, gripping tightly. Mello was…Mello was…

_Let's go see Lucifer, Matt. _

_You ever think about forever?_

_In eighty years or so, I'd like to show you some things._

_The lucky sun star is hurtled into the great vacuum, away from the awesome pull of the dead one. _

Matt's knees buckled, giving way to the weight of the rest of him. "I can't…" He sank, a great, terrible agony welling up in his chest, bursting against his throat. Not the searing hole, not the burn around the edges, not Mello—different pain, worse…this was _worse_. "I can't—I can't feel him. I can't _feel_ him! _I can't feel him!_"

He felt anchorless, adrift in the great chasm of loss, of grief, of insurmountable agony rippling through him. He drew in a sharp breath, shuddering as the pain clawed at his throat, burned behind his eyes. A sob gurgled inside of him, desperately trying to escape. He sucked in another breath, shuddering as the first fall of tears squeezed free. His arms latched onto Near, the man who held him, anchored him in reality, as cruel a thing a person could do. He latched onto him, squeezing, his face shoved into his neck, his body jerking as it tried to release it, the pain, the agony, the _grief_…

The sobs were quiet, deadly quiet, sharp, slicing gasps, deep, trembling breaths expelled haltingly, violently. The grief seized him, wracked him, viciously torturing every twitching muscle, every quivering limb, until he could do nothing but whimper.

Mello was gone.

_Come with me_, Mello had said.

_No_, Matt had answered.

And so, Mello left.

**To be continued…**


	16. Chapter 16

**Title**: Scattering Ashes  
**Chapter Title**: Wanted  
**Summary**: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.  
**Disclaimer**: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.  
**Pairing**: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt  
**Spoiler Warning**: With the aid of a reviewer, I was able to return to the first episode we see Near and Mello in and understand it from a new perspective. You'll understand this once you've read it.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: I apologize, sincerely, for the very long wait. Life can be unexpectedly, um, terrible. But everything is fine now and I'm feeling more and more inspired lately. That being said, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews!

**Ichimaru-taicho** did a marvelous fanart that inspired all the references to the color blue in this here chapter. Link as follows: **ichimaru-taichou****[dot]deviantart[dot]com/art/Scattering-Ashes-115691430** **Cu-kid** also did another fanart--and this one with an inspirational belt-buckle--and you can find her new art here: **cu-kid[DOT]deviantart{DOT}com/art/Three-Two-116837455** Go and tell them how awesome they are! **Mello my Dear**, hopefully I answer your question here! Very clever of you to find that inconsistency! Near kept his reservations on the truth of the matter because he did not think it worth seeming like he was derailing Matt's obviously skewed memory of Mello. Thank you so much for your review!

Special thanks to **Doumi** for her beta of this chapter, comments made laugh so hard I cried! You're the best!

Enjoy, loves. This one was somewhat difficult to write, but once I got the gist of it down, I became very excited about it!

Yours,

Gloria

**Scattering Ashes**

Chapter Sixteen

**Wanted**

"_Who then devised the torment? Love._

_Love is the unfamiliar Name_

_Behind the hands that wove_

_The intolerable shirt of flame_

_Which human power cannot remove._

_We only live, only suspire_

_Consumed by either fire or fire."_

**~From The Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot**

July 25th, 2013

He had never before been visited by the intense urge to lock his arms around another person and never let go, the visceral, powerful instinct to protect, to ward away demons, to sacrifice everything and anything for another person's happiness. Logically, Near understood why. He knew to feel that strongly about anyone would be ultimately futile. And the only thing worse than being compelled to throw your mind, body and soul out into the wild, into the unknown, in a desperate attempt to ward another from harm--the only thing worse is the sinking, horrible knowledge that it isn't enough. Matt's pain shuddered through Near in great, terrible waves. Even now, as Matt's sobs quieted and he drifted further into unconsciousness, Near could feel the agony rippling through his chest, slashing at his heart, because he knew, he _knew_, nothing he could ever do or say, not even his bargain with the dead, could take away the pain Matt was suffering.

Near had always known, since the moment Matt walked back into his life, that there was this well of grief just about to break the surface--and that when it did break, Near had known he would be too bewildered and out of his league to know what to do. And truly, he didn't.

The hours slipped by, as Matt's breathing deepened and evened out. Near continued to hold him as tightly as he could, his limbs screaming their protest, the tile hard and cold against his kneecaps. The cheese and butter strewn about the kitchen was beginning to smell, left where Matt had thrown it all during his breakdown. Matt's clothes were still damp from the river, but mostly only along the edges of his seams, and the thicker areas of his heavy pants. Matt's body shivered from time to time, the cool air of the safe house chilly because of the wet. Near wanted to run his fingers through Matt's hair, to stir up the scent carried with them of the Azusa Mountains, of sage and dust and buckwheat, but didn't find the motion worth unlocking his grip on Matt's sleeping form.

Near had lost track of time when Matt stirred. Instinctually, Near thought it might be sometime in the early morning. Matt brought his knees up to his chest, still asleep, unconsciously attempting to curl in on himself, a ball of limbs pressing into the heat of Near's body. It took a great internal struggle, but Near finally decided to get Matt to bed, the threat of catching cold a real thing now as Matt continued to shiver and Near was beginning to lose his own body heat.

With soft, coaxing, mindless words, Near prompted Matt to stand up. The hacker, his W, his trained bodyguard, seemed a delicate creature now. Matt's hands came up to lock around Near's neck and his head fell against Near's shoulder as he allowed himself to be lifted, his legs uncoiling and wobbling as they straightened. Once both pairs of feet were firmly pressed against the floor, Near walked Matt to the closest of the two bedrooms, murmuring in his ear and unsurprised when Matt's only response was to turn his face into the curve of Near's throat and shoulder. When they reached the bed, Matt seemed reluctant to sit, even as Near bent low at the waist to help him do it. Eventually, Matt lowered himself to the edge of the bed, his eyes distant and bloodshot, his eyelids drooping, still half-asleep as he was.

Matt was compliant and quiet as Near hooked his fingers into the upper-seam of his arm-sleeve and pulled it down and over his hand. He contemplated it for a brief moment, idly turning the black fabric over in his hands. It was not, in all honesty, how Near had thought he would be undressing Matt tonight. Near tossed the arm-sleeve to the side and went back to remove the other one. The shirt came next, Matt's arms coming up without Near having to ask, the hacker's face turned away as Near slipped the tank top over his head and discarded it to the side where a pile was forming.

Near placed a palm in the center of Matt's naked chest and pressed, as his other hand pulled back the duvet. Obedient, Matt laid back, his hand coming up to cover the one touching him. There was a moment, a quick, silent one, fleeting, as things happen, when their eyes met. Matt came back to the present, the here and now, a quiet glance of gratitude in his cornflower blue eyes, acknowledging Near in the only way he could. His eyes slid to the side, the moment gone, and he disappeared back into whatever empty place in his mind he needed to escape to. His hand lowered, his fingers curled, and his face turned to press his cheek into the nearest pillow.

Near breathed in deeply, steadying himself, feeling like a floundering idiot, and exhaled slowly. He crossed the room and opened the chest of drawers, retrieving a white tee shirt and a pair of soft sweatpants. He placed both items at the foot of the bed and bent over Matt to work the buckle of his jeans. The belt slid through the loops without much fuss, for which Near was grateful because he did not think he could bear the embarrassment of needing to ask Matt for help. Matt lifted his hips when coaxed and Near pulled down the damp, heavy jeans, adding them to the heap of clothing on the floor. Re-dressing Matt was easier than Near had feared, even though he felt a strange sense of loss and detachment as he covered Matt's limbs with fabric. He kept his touches infrequent and appropriate, careful not to linger around the dented scars of his arms and legs, or the jagged pink one still healing along Matt's ribcage. Near covered Matt with the blanket when he was finished, tucking it under his chin and watching as Matt's eyes closed, asleep again within seconds. Near brushed his knuckles once against the curve of Matt's exposed cheek, and then retreated, closing the door behind him.

Near cleaned up the kitchen, throwing away the spoiled food and washing the dishes tossed to the floor. Then he went and sat next to his Jack of Hearts castle. His fingers floated near and around the small wooden figurines with painted faces, icons of the characters playing parts in his own personal mystery. The mystery began to unravel in his mind as he touched the figure 'K', set close to the five BlueShip representatives. With a sigh, Near reached for a half-carved piece of wood and a knife, and set to work to finish what he started.

Near's knees were drawn up to his chest, wood chips and curling tendrils falling about him in a circle as the shape became more apparent. He left room above the eyes for goggles, a bulk of wood about the torso for that clever vest, and took special care to try and recreate the exact texture and fall of hair. Soon, it was apparent who the figure stood for, even without paint. He placed it between K and Danny-boy and buried his face in his hands, the urge to cry more powerful than it ever had been his entire life. Near did not weep, however, for he seemed to have forgotten how.

~*~

Three days came and went.

Near watched Matt sink further into depression, alternating between sitting in a corner of the safe house and drinking himself into a stupor, and retreating to the back room to play video games. Near watched him warily, but did not intervene. It was he who had taken Mello away from him, first with his deal with Mello's ghost, and then by stupidly throwing Mello's urn into a riverbank warded by a cougar protecting her litter--even though that had been, thoroughly, accidental. He had no right to attempt to make Matt happy, and wouldn't know how even if he tried.

Three days of utter silence. Three days of directionless musing. Three days of frustration that turned ultimately into anger.

Near was furious with Mello. That damned ghost hadn't appeared at all since their deal. Mello told him he would speak to him, tell him how to handle this. Mello had predicted his absence would destroy Matt, and instructed Near to listen to his coaching regarding the matter. However, none, it seemed, was forthcoming.

Near found himself in the bathroom with the door shut. He stood in the center of the room, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. His hands clutched something, the ridges biting into the flesh of his hand. Near was in white today, having reverted back to his usual style of dress, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the red, yellow and white beaded arm braces, his bare toes curling on the cold tile of the floor.

Near did not remember coming into the bathroom, or why he was there. Near blinked slowly, squinting against the sense of vertigo that swirled in his brain, the tingle that crept up the base of his spine. His eyes darted as the tingle became a sensation like ice being pelted at him. He saw it before it vanished, the twitching figure in the corner, the creature with the bent head and mangled limbs. It was gone though, before even a second passed. The light flickered above Near's head. The reek of sulfur and gasoline and burned rubber invaded his nostrils. Feeling something like real fear, Near closed his eyes and battled paranoia with the stronger weapon of logic.

Nothing there. Phantoms exist only in one's mind. Near humored Mello's ghost because it was the only phantom he shared with Matt--and that had to be worth something. Near took the burden, shouldered Matt's weight as well. Perhaps one day Matt would shake himself of this depression and become himself again: Happy, clever, witty. A man who did not care much about the world, but enjoyed every minute he was in it. Worth it, Near thought, to forget why he stood wherever he might stand. Worth it, Near thought, to see twitching ghouls in the corner of his eye. Worth it to be haunted, if Matt could have a chance at _normal_.

It was not so unlikely, that Wammy's would breed more than strong minds. Reasonable, that sanity would be the first sacrifice for knowledge. Near remembered when his first began to slip. He remembered he was only eight when he began to lose his conscience, his need to feel. It was a conscious decision, for Near, to let it go. He'd seen the madness of Beyond Birthday, the day they sent him away from Wammy's. He'd seen the manic glint in Mello's eyes that heightened his sense of urgency, his fervor to be the best. Better for Near to acknowledge the inevitability of it and to just...let it go.

Matt's was taken from him. Near was trying to give it back. He didn't know what else to do.

The cold was back. Near wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, feeling his jaw tremble as he began to shiver. The item he held was solid and sharp-edged. There will be marks in his palm from gripping it. The sound of the faucet turning, stream of water, hiss of steam. Near told himself not to, but he opened his eyes anyway.

Scalding water poured from the faucet, misting the gilded mirror above it. The fear became a sharp tremor in his gut. Near glanced around the bathroom, knowing he would find no one, but hoping he was wrong. This was worse than phantoms. This was a physical hallucination, a delusion. Now, Near was seeing things move. He was still freezing cold, even though the humidity from the water quickly spread throughout the bathroom. Near shivered again, imagining the putrid smell of rot and water from his prison in Abu Ghraib. A trick. A trick.

"Mello," Near hissed. "Show yourself. Enough." Near despised himself for how his voice quaked.

A long, slow, grinding squeak. Near whirled around, attempting to locate the sound. No one, nothing. No Mello. No twitching ghoul. The light flickered again, but this time it did not right itself into normal brightness. It continued to blink, frantically, like a strobe. The floor beneath him trembled. He turned again, hearing the squeak behind him. He saw it then, the letters on the mirror, formed by manipulated moisture. An invisible finger slashed the lines through the fog, angry now, quick and startling. Near read the words.

_YOU ARE_

_LOSING_

_HIM._

"Mello?" Near whispered. "Why are you doing this? Show yourself."

Again:

_YOU ARE_

_LOSING_

_HIM!_

"I know," Near said softly, between quivering lips. The cold was unbearable, chilling him to the bone. "I'm sorry, Mello. I don't know how to fix him."

_YOU _

_PROMISED_

_TO KEEP_

_HIM SAFE._

The cold intensified, the twitching ghoul was back and gone again before Near could round on it. There was a splintering sound and the mirror cracked, as if punched in the center, the shards spreading out in jagged, rippling circles. The mirror exploded.

Near inhaled sharply, throwing his arms up to protect his head. The impact never came. A heavy silence blanketed him, broken only by Near's ragged gasps. Near straightened, blinking rapidly, his heart racing. The temperature was normal, the mirror was whole, the faucet turned off. As if it never happened.

Near unclenched his fingers and regarded the half-carved block of wood. He wasn't sure who it was supposed to be. Near let it roll along his finger pads and topple to floor.

_I've left something for you. _

_For safekeeping. _

_You will keep it safe, won't you?_

_Won't you?_

_Do you promise? _

Near leaned heavily against the door, his brow pressed against the cool enameled frame. He took in a long breath and let it out slowly. Of course. It was never about the urn. Near opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.

Near took his promises very seriously.

Matt sat behind his computer table, the monitors black and the speakers turned off. His booted feet were propped up on the edge, his wheeled leather chair teetering dangerously to the side as he leant back and stared at the ceiling. A smoking cigarette dangled lazily from between two gloved fingers. The other hand held a chilled glass of clear liquor, ice chips and flakes of gold sifting around each other respectively as Matt brought the snifter to his lips and took a swallow. The heavy scent of cinnamon and alcohol wafted over to Near as he approached. Matt did not so much as glance his way.

Matt still had that placid, shadowy look in his eyes, as if he wasn't really in the room at all, stuck somewhere between grief and resignation. His auburn hair fell in strange patterns about his face and between the goggles perched atop his brow. The jagged scar sweeping past his temple and disappearing into his hair was shinier than the rest of his skin, noticeable in the dim light of the safe house. The rest of his scars were hidden under layers of clothing. Near knew how Matt felt about them, and today wasn't really the right time to try and change that.

Near hovered in the middle of the room uncertainly, watching Matt ignore him. Finally, Near caught his nerve and held it fast. "Matt, we need to talk."

Slowly, deliberately, Matt put down his snifter and replaced it with a game controller. He switched on a single screen and hit a few buttons on his keyboard. Within seconds, Matt had immersed himself in a video game, his fingers flying over the controller, his eyes trained on the screen in front of him.

Near breathed in slowly through his nose, trying to will away the flare of temper that sparked at that. Near could handle being ignored. Really, that had never been a problem for him. Near understood that, to the naked eye, he was as uninteresting as they came; and usually he did enough of the ignoring to train the people most often around him. He was comfortable with silence. But this...this was--this was impolite.

"Matt." Near breathed in again, exhaled, and uncurled his fingers as he continued to play his game. "Matt."

The hacker stared intently at the simulation, a sniper program, where it was Matt's responsibility to pick off enemy targets during a battle from secluded spots amidst the mayhem. Near did not doubt Matt could physically handle the same scenario in real life, knowing that Watari had been an excellent shot himself. This could hardly be considered practice for a W.

There it was, the slow burn of irritation creeping up on Near, a sharp tang in his belly, sliding along his skin. The slow breathing was no longer helping.

Near crossed the room, wrenched the controller from Matt's grasp, yanked the chord from the computer, and hurled it against the nearest wall, where it shattered and fell into bits across the deep, blue carpet. Matt was in his face in an instant.

"What the hell is your problem?" Matt demanded, furious, his eyes blazing.

Near lifted his chin. "We need to talk."

"Right," Matt sneered. "_Talk_. Listen, Near, they stopped calling it _talking_ about a century ago. You want me to suck you off again, just say so."

For a moment, Near literally swayed on his feet, dazed as the meaning of his verbal assault sunk in. Near's arm lifted, the mild irritation bursting suddenly into anger, and he backhanded Matt across the face. Matt's head whipped to the side under the impact, and he left it there as Near took several steps back, simultaneously shocked with himself, and indignant about what the conversation had deteriorated to under the span of so many seconds.

"You are not my whore," Near hissed, rubbing at the knuckles of the hand he'd struck Matt with. "I have never, and will never, proposition you for sex. I am not frivolous with my affection, _W_, so be sure to understand I will not _abide_ you referring to intimate moments between us so callously in the future. You will differ respectfully or, so help me, _not at all_. Do I make myself clear?"

Matt finally straightened, oddly seeming like a soldier as his shoulders squared and he raised his eyes to gaze at something right above Near's head. "Transparently. I understand. _L_."

Near shook his head. "Don't do that. I was merely making a point. Something we hadn't discussed before, and maybe we should have--"

"Forget it," Matt said quietly, his eyes still distant, his hands locked at the wrist behind his back. "I deserved the repercussion. I was out of line. I apologize."

"Don't do that," Near repeated, an edge of desperation in his voice. "Matt, don't do that; please."

"Do what?" Matt's eyes were cold as they flickered down to meet his. "Apologize? Be what I am?"

Near's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know what you're doing. Enough with these games. You need to come back." Near couldn't allow Matt to continue this, drowning in his misery, sarcastic and bitter. He needed to be mentally fit for General Whitman for the year that he was away. And then...well.

"I'm right here."

"No, you're not. I gave you three days--"

"Yeah, after you threw the urn into a lion's den," Matt muttered, turning away.

Near inhaled sharply. Matt might as well have slapped him in the face too. "That was an accident, Matt. I never meant for it to happen."

"Listen to you," Matt overrode him again, turning to face him. "The closest person in the world to me is dead and you think three days is enough to just--"

"You've had three _years_ to grieve," Near snapped, cringing internally as the words slipped from his mouth. No, no, no! But...maybe angering him was the only way to get his attention.

"_Fuck you_," Matt exploded. "Fuck you, because you have no idea what you're talking about. Three years, three days, it doesn't fucking matter. I'm not _me_ anymore, Near, goddamn it. I'm not--"

"Not supposed to be alive," Near finished for him, just barely stopping himself before rolling his eyes. "Yes, yes, we've gone over that one before. Does it ever become tiresome, this whole martyr business?" It was working. The hacker's expression flared, his eyes flashed, his mouth became a thin line.

Matt went on the offensive, the shift as startling as the dangerous look in his cornflower blue eyes, the quiet of his voice. "Odd that you can't relate, Near, for damning yourself to a lifetime of impersonating someone else ought to be rather demeaning."

Near crossed the room quickly. He was many things, but a coward was not one of them. He grabbed a handful of Matt's shirt and shook him as much as the other man would budge. "You think I don't know what I signed up for? Yes, Matt, I'm basically a copy of something great. Almost, but _not quite_ what Watari always wanted. _Nearly_ L. You don't think I don't _know_ that?! The only difference between you and me is that it doesn't scare me, Matt. I'm not terrified of my duty, the responsibility of what I was chosen for--even if you know more about what that entails than I do."

Matt frowned, but glanced to the side and became quiet. Near saw it and knew he had to play an ace. For a wild moment, he thought he could actually win. He could actually bring him back.

"You do, don't you?" Near pressed, releasing his hold on Matt's shirt. "You know the original operation. You know that I'm more or less an imposter because I've been working Wammy's in the dark for the better part of a decade. Is it funny to you? Is it comical to watch me flounder, grasping at straws that you dangle just out of reach because you're too much of a coward to be human again?" Near curled his fingers into fists, a show of desperately trying to rein in his temper. "You're not afraid of being _my_ W. L's don't have W's, do they? W's have L's. A delicate difference, but a definitive one. Were you never going to tell me? Matt! _What_ am I supposed to do?"

"I've told you before," Matt said quietly, staring at something apparently quite fascinating on his shoe. "You're doing fine. I disapprove of how little attention you give the orphans, but other than that, you've done remarkably well."

"Forgive me if I'm not flattered," Near ground out. "I'll be sure to send you monthly reports, now that I know I have someone I need to answer to."

"Not like that; not really." Matt looked at him then, an unfathomable expression on his face. "We were meant to be a team."

"Correction," Near said flatly, a shiver of real emotion, real resentment crawling up his spine. "You and _Mello _were supposed to be a team. That's why you signed on." Near closed his eyes, breathing against the old feelings, buried desperation and hurt. Never let them see that it meant anything. _Never_ let them see. "I can handle being the unwanted anomaly. I won't apologize for it, for the fact that I stayed when he left. He could have fought for it, I offered a truce. I did. You weren't there, but I did. He couldn't stand the thought of me having equal rights to him."

Near opened his eyes; Matt was staring at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I didn't _take_ anything from him," Near said. Bets were off. It was getting personal now. Near figured it was only fair. "He left. He was too proud, too angry. I'm sorry he died. I could have protected him, protected you, but no one wanted anything to do with me. If there's anything I regret..." Near paused, his monotone voice cracking, bitterness making it rougher than usual. "It would be that. That I was so-so _deplorable_ to be around that absolutely no one wanted to work with me. Not even you. Still."

Matt's expression changed, darkened, became even more immobile. Finally, he spoke. "Mello made it seem like you were actually chosen over him."

Near met his eyes then, sighed, and looked away. He felt spent, tired, hollow even. What else was there to say? Even so, they still had not spoken about what Near had come in the room for. Too many things to say. He'd brought Matt back, spoken the truth about a thing he would have rather left buried in old history, just to see the hacker aware of his surroundings again, returned from his stupor. Things always seem to get worse, before they got better. "I'm not Mello. I'm not Lawliet. I'm Nate. I can't be anything else. Wouldn't know how if I tried." Near looked back at Matt. "I just need to know you're not going to hang yourself when we finally call this what it is and I return to headquarters. I need to go back to work without worrying over you."

"You think I'm suicidal?" Matt asked with a ghost of a smile.

"I do," Near answered severely. "I need you to promise me you'll be safe."

Matt stiffened, though Near couldn't fathom what he'd said to cause that reaction. The shadows deepened in his face, his eyes became hard like glittering glass. "I won't promise that. I won't. I fucking refuse." Matt made to turn away, but Near grabbed his arm.

"What did I say?" Near demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Don't touch me," he hissed, jerking his arm. When Near held fast, Matt twisted and shoved him in his injured shoulder. Near's face contorted in pain and he dropped Matt's arm, but then his palm flew out from nowhere and slammed into the center of Matt's chest, forcing him backwards several steps and crashing into the computer table.

Matt looked back at Near in shock. Near, gritting his teeth against the pain, glared back expectantly. Near was beyond furious, he was hurt. Near had always considered Matt dangerous, but he never thought Matt would actually strike him. Not especially after...after all that. After everything.

"I am not Mello," Near said in a low voice between his teeth. "This, too, I will not tolerate."

Matt blinked slowly, shaking his head slightly as if getting his bearings. His mouth parted, realization dawning on his handsome face. He sucked in a breath and held it, seeming undecided on his next course of action. Then, swiftly, he was back across the room, gently reaching past Near's flinch to curl his fingers around the throbbing injury. Near swallowed as Matt applied pressure to separate places on his neck and shoulder, pulling his arm back slightly and then moving it forward again. Without warning, Matt dug two fingers into a spot in his shoulder blade and all the pain disappeared immediately, followed by a strange, tingling warmth.

"Better?" Matt moved back slightly to look at his face.

Near glanced at him but did not answer. At this point he couldn't trust himself to say anything that wouldn't endanger this. Matt was back. W was back. Near was determined to develop a filter.

"I'm-I'm sorry. I thought you were--it doesn't matter, I shouldn't have hit you." Matt paused, and let his arms fall to the side. "You're not deplorable," he added as an afterthought. "It's not that. It's this, it's me. I'm not safe to be around."

Near smiled ruefully at that, a wry twist of his lips, and almost sighed with relief. "Ah, well." Near met his eyes, noting the hesitance in Matt's expression, the awareness of his blue gaze. "I have made a dedicated investigation of your quality, and I find you worth the risk."

Matt was staring at him again, like he'd never seen him before. He looked startled, one hand hovering in the air, its directive forgotten. Near realized, belatedly, that he just said something decidedly sappy. He opened his mouth to rectify that with something rude, for both their sakes, but Matt was already moving.

It was strange to be kissed by Matt after something like that. His lips were soft against Near's, the taste of cinnamon and smoke lingering even though Matt's tongue never left his mouth. Matt's hands were tender, gentle as one arm moved around Near's shoulders to pull him closer, the other cupping his face and tilting his head back. The leather of his gloves were cool against Near's skin, his mouth was hot and wet against his lips.

Near allowed it. His eyes remained open and wary, afraid that a twitching ghoul would jump out from the shadows, or an angry Mello apparition would freeze the room and wreak vengeance. Where did Near stand with this now? Was it right for him, to have this with Matt? Would it be taking advantage? If he closed his eyes and gave himself over to it, would Mello watch and seethe from beyond the veil? Would Near _care_ if he did?

Near was beginning to understand the full torment of being haunted by a malevolent spirit.

Near broke away with another sudden thought. _Was it like this for him? _And yet Matt, who was currently staring at him with a wounded expression, had kissed Near anyway, wanted him anyway, pursued him _anyway_. Tricky thing, misery business. Near had a newfound appreciation for the torture Matt endured just being honest about his attraction. Or...whatever it was they shared. He was glad too, for relieving him of it.

Near reached up and tangled his fingers in Matt's hair, bringing his head down so he could kiss him with new fervor, fresh urgency. After all, one year, Near knew, could seem like forever when one was waiting for something wonderful.

Near had the feeling that he had grown somewhat in doing this, kissing, touching; certainly better than that first frozen, bewildered moment at the Starks. Even so, Matt still had the ability to surprise him, introduce him to something new. Matt answered the charged kiss with a rush of his own, small, quick kisses with as much teeth as lips. Near's blood heated, flushing his entire body with a pleasant, tantalizing warmth. Matt ran his hands down his back, clever fingers slipping beneath the hem of Near's shirt and crawling up his spine. Simple, titillating touches that made Near gasp against Matt's mouth and move in closer, drawn in and drugged.

Matt murmured something against Near's lips and dipped his head to the side, scaling more biting, wet kisses down Near's throat. Near's fingers knotted in Matt's hair, sense struggling with the lust in his brain. "I don't want you to think--"

Matt lifted his head. "I don't. I really don't. I was just being cruel. I don't think that at all."

Near met his eyes, chewing on his kiss-swollen bottom lip. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Matt's hands beneath his shirt flattened against the planes of Near's back, pulling him closer, flush against him, so Near could feel the bulge between his legs. "Jesus, Near, I'm so sure."

Heat erupted into fire. Matt's tongue swept into his mouth, invading his senses with the taste of smoke and cinnamon, the scent of leather and soap. Near's fingers dug into Matt's shoulders, his head swimming as he tried to keep up, hazily content to merely be swept along if he couldn't. Near didn't know if Matt would ever come back to Wammy's. He knew Matt considered Danny-boy too dangerous to break his word to. Near would know Matt was safe for an entire year, but after that...after that he had no idea. Maybe Near would never see him again. It would be fair, all things considered, for all that he'd put Matt through. But if he had to dwindle this down to a mere memory, Near wanted it to be the best memory possible.

Matt held him close as Near began to move, began to answer, taking initiative. He broke the kiss only long enough to grab Matt's hand and remove his glove with his teeth. Something wild and uncontrollable sparked in Matt's heated gaze at that, and Near found himself being pushed backwards, lips sucking at his throat, fingers fisting in his hair, until his back was pressed against the shelves. Blocks of un-carved wood shook and toppled over as Matt rolled his hips against Near's, fingers moving quickly to unbutton his shirt. Sandalwood, redwood, sage-scented birch and maple wafted around them, smells disturbed and shaken free. Near snaked his hand down to the third shelf, an interesting idea half-formed in his lust-drugged mind. Matt's mouth abruptly left Near's throat as the detective pushed against him, arms-length and just barely. There was a hiss, the sound of shredding fabric, a clean cut down the middle. Near smiled.

Matt's striped shirt hung from his shoulders, his chest and stomach bared and glistening with the beginning shimmer of sweat. Matt gaped at him stupidly for a moment, hand shooting out to grab Near's wrist and jerking the carving knife from his hand. But Near used the motion to pull him close again, using his free hand to push the shirt off one shoulder, sliding it down one bullet-scarred arm and snagging against the leather glove still adorning Matt's right hand. Near pressed a quick kiss to the side of Matt's jaw, hearing the deep chuckle before using the twisted fabric as leverage and turning Matt around. Matt gave up the struggle with a quiet moan, allowing Near to undress him from behind, his head falling back to Near's shoulder. Once the shirt and glove were off, however, Matt wove one arm around Near's waist and turned around, pressing him back against the shelves.

"Sneaky bastard," Matt whispered breathlessly in his hair as he removed Near's shirt and tossed it to the side. Near merely smiled again, curving his lips against Matt's next kiss, tipping his head back to allow the kiss to deepen.

Near smoothed his hands over Matt's shoulders, slowly touching every scar, dipping his fingertips into the tiny dents. Matt became still above him. Near wondered if anyone aside from a doctor had ever touched them before. He wondered, briefly, what it felt like, or if the scar tissue no longer had nerve endings. He moved lower, one hand caressing the mark along his ribcage, knowing its location by memory. Matt shivered, his face disappearing somewhere in Near's neck. Near touched the knife scar again and, without knowing why, turned his head and sank his teeth into the curve between Matt's neck and shoulder. Matt moaned, tightening his hold on Near, his fingers active again as they worked on the tie of Near's pants.

Matt lowered himself to slide the clothing over Near's hips, spreading small kisses wherever his mouth could possibly reach Near's skin. Near trembled as Matt's fingers traced lazy patterns on his heated flesh, the insides of his thighs, his straining phallus. Matt kissed one side of the swollen organ, the head, the juncture between hip and thigh. Near was squirming by the time Matt finally swallowed him, desperate and mind numb for the heat, the wet. Near's fingers scrambled for Matt's shoulder, clutching and drawing him up.

"S-Stop."

Matt lifted his head, and was on his feet in an instant. He cupped Near's face, pulling him close as Near panted, trying to get a hold of himself as he trembled and the pleasure raced through his veins like acid. "I want..."

"What do you want?" Matt whispered, his lips brushing against Near's ear.

Near didn't know how to ask, only knew how to yearn, to _want_. "Everything. Matt, God, please don't make me beg for it."

Matt answered him by kissing him, a deep, harsh kiss that was equal parts savage and passionate. Near tasted blood by the time they inched their way into the closest bedroom, but couldn't figure out if it was his or Matt's. His hands were everywhere, touching every part of Matt he could. He fumbled with Matt's belt as the backs of his knees nudged against the mattress of the bed. His heart was racing, almost like when he was panicking, but more adrenaline than fear. His hands shook, making the task more difficult than it had been three days ago. Matt helped him in the end, pushing Near back against the sheets so Near could watch.

Matt's smile was small, almost coy, but definitely dark as he made slow work of undoing his belt and pulling it through the belt loops. Near found himself biting back a groan through clenched teeth as long, slender fingers undid one button and slid down the zipper, exposing the head of his phallus. Near reached up and grabbed his arm, pulling him down and using his feet to push Matt's pants to the floor. Matt moaned and bit down on Near's collarbone as he settled between Near's legs. Their need brushed against the other, igniting waves of lust through both of them. Matt's mouth attacked one nipple, unsatisfied until Near was writhing beneath him. Then he moved over just slightly to torment the other one. Near was making a habit of tearing at Matt's hair, overwhelmed with the heat, the pleasure, the continued _want _that pulsed through him.

Near hooked one leg around Matt's, twisting them over until he was on top, effectively straddling him. Matt's hands slid up Near's chest, causing him to flush, nervous at how Matt's heated gaze seemed almost black as it wandered over him, hungrily soaking in every plane of flesh his fingers touched. His hands slipped back down and settled on Near's hips. A slight pressure from those hands and Near found himself grinding against him, head thrown back, electricity shooting up his spine. Matt shifted underneath him, upwards, until his generous mouth covered Near's again. They rolled and Matt surged against him. Near could swear he forgot his own name as his body arched, sweat-slick and yearning.

"Turn over." Simple demand, quiet, but more of a question than anything. Near wondered why Matt was still asking for permission.

Near obliged, kneeling and upright, his back pressed against Matt's torso. Matt kept one arm wrapped snugly around Near's chest as he bent to do something. There was a rustling, the sound of a cap clicking, and then Matt's lips pressed against Near's throat. A quick graze of teeth to get his attention, followed by a swipe of his tongue to soothe over the sting. "Near. This will be uncomfortable at first."

Near could only nod. Undoubtedly, he was no coward--but he'd never done..._this_ before. None of it. Near had never really thought he would. It still surprised him that someone like Matt could want someone like him in this way. A single lubricated finger traced the length of his spine, teasing yet gentle, leaving a trail of cool wetness on his back. Near arched because of the sensation and Matt rewarded him with another kiss to the back of his neck. The finger slid between Near's buttocks and probed. Near was distracted as Matt's other hand lowered from the front of his chest and ghosted over his member, only half-hard now from the apprehension. Matt stroked it with nimble fingers, pulling until he was straining again, flushed with pleasure and bucking into Matt's hand. He gasped when Matt's finger slid inside of him, torn between the pleasure of Matt's hand around his phallus, and the intrusion. It did not hurt, not really, but it was certainly uncomfortable. Matt continued to divert him, reaching lower to squeeze the base of his phallus, twisting his wrist so the grip on him made Near cry out. Near was being stretched. He realized this when he registered a second, then a third finger, lubricated and infinitely gentle, even though the third digit did sting.

The fingers inside of him plunged deeper, quicker, and the hand on his phallus pulled faster and faster. Near's head rolled on Matt's shoulder, his bones like liquid as the sensations overwhelmed him. Abruptly, there was shock like electricity and Near went rigid, straightening on his knees again and falling forward. He braced himself with one hand on the headboard as Matt adjusted behind him and plunged his fingers in again, aiming for something specific. Near's eyes watered, his breath coming in short gasps as the jolt jerked through him again and again. Matt's brow pressed against the small of his back, murmuring something against his skin, coaxing, encouraging. Near closed his eyes and saw white, shuddering as Matt's hand slipped free and replaced them with his phallus, entering in one swift thrust. Matt buried himself deep and held him close as Near came, shivering and jerking with the force of his orgasm, wondering wildly if it would ever stop.

The quiet seemed loud suddenly, broken and rattled by Near's panting and Matt's heavy breathing. Matt was very still behind him, waiting for Near to come down, to adjust, to _move_. When Near finally did, Matt sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. Near bucked again, pushing against the headboard with his hand. Matt gripped Near's shoulder tightly, retreated until only the tip of his organ remained inside, and then thrust in again. The blinding white returned, creeping into the edges of Near's vision, the jolt of electricity even more piercing, more demanding post-orgasm. He could feel himself becoming hard again. Matt moved inside of him, long, slow strokes, whispering indiscernible words against his skin, his hair, anything he could reach. Near pushed himself away from the headboard, until he was flush against Matt, who wrapped his arm back around Near's chest and held him there, moving inside of him like the surf breaking against the shore.

Near felt like his heart was going to break. He knew it was Matt behind him, knew this closeness was for them only, but he had absolutely no idea if Matt was seeing him right now or...or Mello. "I need to look at you."

Matt slipped out of him and Near immediately turned, straddling him and lowering himself back on his phallus. It was easier this time, but Near felt like it was deeper, closer, just on the edge of pain--but then there was that titillating jolt. All worth it. All worth it. Matt kissed him hard, crushing their lips together, bruising and biting until they were both in a frenzy. "I see you, Near," Matt said between kisses. "I see you."

Ebb and flow, almost torture, mostly pleasure. Near took the initiative and drove Matt wild with his fingers and tongue, touching and licking every inch he could reach. Sweat-salty skin and cinnamon flavored tongue. Matt pounded into him harder, faster, until the friction between them was so piercing, they could no longer tell where the one ended and the other began. Near was lowered onto his back, Matt moving above him, gazing down with intense, heavy-lidded eyes, so spectacularly sapphire blue that Near had to look away, utterly naked beneath them. Above, the light flickered. "Near," Matt whispered, chanted, moaned. "Jesus, fuck; _Near_." Above them, harshly like a strobe, a seizure of light and shadow and back again. Their bodies were too hot to feel the cold, but Near knew it was there. He told himself not to look, but he did it anyway. A strange spasm of motion, the twitching ghoul there and gone again, angry and watching. The shadows flickered and moved, dancing with the light and the sudden, jerking absence of it, shapes of wings and talons, death gods mocking, ghosts seething. Near held onto Matt, clinging tightly, surging back against him, racing for the finish, knowing that if he could have this, he could keep his soul, and to hell with the rest of it.

Near buried his face into Matt's shoulder, moaning as the jolt became rhythmic, Matt hitting it with every stroke, every push, straining higher and higher, ready and needing the plunge. Near ignored the demons, the dark promise of revenge, the horrible thought of losing his sanity for this one special moment with Matt; held on and rode with it. Matt's arms were tight around him, his gasps ragged in Near's ear. His name was a holy chant on Matt's lips, sacrilegious and beautiful.

Near came like an explosion of pleasure and fire, thoughts slipping away into the void as he lost himself in it. Matt did not last much longer, holding him so closely as he shuddered inside of him, it was a wonder Near could still breathe. Small, tender kisses dropped on his face were what brought Near back to the present, to solidity. He answered them with a smile, tracing his fingers along Matt's eyelashes, the curve of his cheek, the angle of his jaw. Matt gazed at him with wonder, sleepy and almost child-like. He rolled to his side, slipping out of Near, and grabbed his torn shirt. Matt used it to towel both of them off and then tossed it back to the floor. Near pulled up the duvet to cover them as they settled back into the pillows, askew after their lovemaking, but still soft and welcoming. Matt kept looking at him, seeming to want to say something, but loosing his nerve in the process.

"It's okay," Near murmured. "I know. It's okay."

"That was amazing," he managed finally.

Playing curious, Near lifted a brow. "Oh, was it?"

"I thought you were a virgin."

Near frowned, confused again but also distracted by the glow on Matt's face. "I...Well, I was."

A slow smile spread across Matt's lips, his expression battling between smug and surprised. "Hm," he murmured noncommittally, pulling Near closer until his head rested on Matt's shoulder. He pulled his fingers gently through Near's damp hair, speaking as if from far away. "I'm glad that...that I came back for you, got to know you. You're a surprising person, Near."

Near felt warm at that, smiling only because he couldn't help it. "You are too."

Too many things left unsaid, unspoken thoughts vanishing into the shadows of their dark room. It would have to be enough, for now. It would have to be, because they would not have another chance for a long, long time.

~*~

He waited until he was certain Matt was asleep. The new flickering began an hour ago, give or take a few minutes. Insistently from the other room, where the computer station was, and ceaseless. Matt murmured something in his sleep and turned over. Near touched his cheek briefly, brushing tousled hair away from his closed eyes. Everything has an end, he supposed. Prolonging the inevitable was only good as long as it was good. Near wanted it to end like this, peacefully and with no regrets.

Quietly, Near slipped out of bed and put on his clothes. He padded barefoot from the room, closing the door silently behind him. He expected the cold, but his body must not have, for his limbs shivered involuntarily. The light seemed to be coming from the computer screens, but when he rounded on them Near stopped short. Near wasn't sure what he expected, but he was certain it wasn't this.

The screens weren't on at all, black as night as they had been for days--unless Matt had the notion to play a game on one of them. But the reflection of light seemed to be coming from them anyway, bouncing off _his_ figure, information skittering in flashes across _his_ large, glassy eyes.

L Lawliet stood in front of the computer table, hunched over with his hands shoved in his pockets. His bored gaze fixated on the screens in front of him, his entire body shimmering like he was some sort of hologram.

Near's lips parted in surprise and he glanced around the room. Seeing nothing else out of sorts, he returned his eyes to the figure in front of him, his dead predecessor, and wondered if this would be like the jet into Israel.

_You are not paying attention._

Movement. L lifted one hand to his mouth and bit down on his thumb. He spoke around it, a single monotone note, muffled by the finger pressed against his lips. "I assume you enjoyed yourself."

Not a question. L wouldn't really ask questions, would he? Near felt himself straighten, unnerved but respectful. He did not respond, odd question that it was. Well, not really a question.

"One of the better parts of being alive," L said, his tone only mildly wistful. L's gaze slid away from the screens to regard Near with owl-like eyes. Twin abysms set in a too-pale face, inky black hair framing it in organized madness. "Copulation," L clarified without provocation. He looked back at the screens.

"Light-kun wishes to be a Shinigami," he said after a pause. "They have their own hierarchy, did you know? A king, politics, rather boorish in my opinion. I can understand why Ryuk wished for entertainment." The thumb lowered, the hand returned to its pocket. L tilted his head to the side as if regarding something particularly interesting. The invisible light and information emanating from the black screens darted across L's retinas. "But one cannot become Shinigami until they have forgotten their lifetime among humans," L said in a weirdly flat sing-song voice. He smiled thinly, turning to Near again. "I have made it my eternal obligation to remind him of _everything_."

Near's brows arched slightly, but that was his only response.

"You understand that you must leave him," L said, switching topics so abruptly it made Near blink. Again, not a question.

Slowly, Near nodded.

"Good." L turned back to the computer system.

Finally, Near spoke. "Mello sent you."

Irritation flittered across L's expression, gone as quickly as it came. "Yes," he answered simply. "He can be...somewhat persuasive."

"Or fatally obnoxious," Near supplied.

L smiled again, a creepy curve of his porcelain white lips. "Indeed."

"Why can he not be here himself?"

L glanced at him. Near felt his eyes on him like a blow. "Come now, Near. You already know."

Near breathed in deeply. "After our deal, after losing the urn, he lost all his attachments to the physical realm."

L was gazing at him intently now. "Go on."

"He needs a conduit."

L nodded his approval. "Here, he is merely a shapeless mist. It aggravates him, but he has planned ahead. It is only a matter of time."

Near's shoulders sagged minutely. "So I am not completely rid of him."

"You already know the answer to that one as well, Near."

"I do."

"You do." L dragged his eyes away and searched the blank screens. "Ah," he said. "There it is." He blinked and a screen turned on, minimizing and focusing on a single strand of numbers. "Memorize that."

Near glanced at it, obedient. The screen went black again.

"Time is against you," L said, turning completely to face him. The flickering ceased. "You must leave immediately. K is already on her way."

"How close?"

"Sub-stratosphere."

Near forced himself to breath normally, despite the sudden slash of fear in his belly. "If I leave him now, he will think--"

"That you left him?" L's smile was cruel and glinting. L shrugged after a moment, his eyes drifting behind him to the room where Matt slept. "Mail Jeevas is intelligent. He will understand. Eventually."

Near closed his eyes. "Can I at least say goodbye?"

"Inadvisable."

Near sighed. "Alright. I understand."

L pointed to Matt's wallet, left on the table. "Use the red card for purchasing. It's traceable, but you'll be home before anyone thinks to do so."

"She will be coming here."

"Yes."

"I will rendezvous with her at Rancho Cucamonga."

"Very good, Near."

"She will be swayed if she sees me?"

L did not answer for a long time. "The future is subjective, Near. And there are rules."

"Yes. Mello spoke of rules."

"I am glad you are paying attention, Near. Do you know how to drive?"

Near buttoned up his shirt after locating and slipping on his shoes. "Pardon?"

"Do you have the basic knowledge of how to operate a vehicle?"

Near stared at him for a moment, fumbling with the loose strings of his arm bracelets. "I am sure that I do."

"Terrific," L said blandly. "Behind you, that wall opens up to a garage. We have an excellent selection here. Or had, as tense dictates."

It was too abrupt, Near thought suddenly. Too urgent. Matt would hate him in the morning. The thought made him sick. Near had been a fool not to see it sooner, to discern the deeper mystery. He untied one of the arm bracelets and laid it atop Matt's wallet, where he was sure to find it, praying he would understand. Hoping he had enough sense in him to realize he was doing this to save Matt's life.

L was gazing at him with a tolerant expression. Whatever this apparition of L thought he understood, the real L would understand more. How on earth does one justly say goodbye?

For people like them, it was a trick question. There was no right answer.

But Near had promises to keep. And so he would.

**To be continued...**


End file.
